Find the mistakes of this passage.
The olds bookstore in the corner of Elm Street was a hidden gem, its shelves lined with dusty volumes that held stories of bygone eras. As I stepped inside, the rich scent of age paper filling my senses, and the creaking wooden floorboards welcomed me with each step. Sunlight filtered through the worn curtains, creating dancing motes of light that illuminated the rows of books. I spent hours there, lost in the pages of history, mystery, and adventure, knowing that within those walls, I could travel to countless worlds and eras without ever leaving my cozily nook.