(one of those places open only by appointment, where the idea of actually selling books is repugnant to the proprietors -- probably run by Aziraphale or something)

I can totally see Aziraphale in San Francisco.

"Merry Christmas, men. This, this is what we're fighting for. This magnificent place belongs to Germany now!"

*snerk*

. . . because when I think "Germany," I think "olive trees and sea-coasts," don't you?