Yesterday at an old bookstore in the southern part of the city, the owner was organizing a new batch of books he had just acquired.

He picked up 'The Formation of Collective Memory' and casually slid it into the psychology section. Then he pulled out a 'Mechanical Design Handbook' and returned it to the engineering area. The whole process took less than ten seconds.

I asked him how he remembered the location of every book. He pointed to his head: "There's a map in here."

This bookstore has no classification system, no index cards, let alone algorithmic recommendations. But regulars all know that if you describe a book you're looking for, the owner can always find it for you from some corner.

Once, someone was looking for a book on 'the history of urban sewers.' The owner went straight to the third row of the architecture section, pulled out 'The Underground Paris,' and also suggested 'Sanitation in Medieval London' to go with it.

Thinking back on it, this system is more precise than any recommendation engine. It doesn't rely on click-through rates or calculate user profiles; it's purely based on an understanding of book content and an insight into human nature.

The owner said that internet recommendations are always guessing what you like, while he helps you discover things you didn't know you would love.

On the bookstore wall, a handwritten sign read: "No Wi-Fi, but we provide attention."

In this age of over-connection, perhaps what we really need isn't more information, but fewer, but more precise, encounters.

When I left, I bought 'The Boundaries of Knowledge.' As the owner gave me my change, he included a bookmark with the inscription: "Reading is the antonym of loneliness."

The bookstore is closing down next week.