the way it looks from here

you see, the way it looks from here, i said, into the sunny windows, there’s no one around. there’s no one about. we have the whole world to ourselves, and still it’s just me. and you, library. i’ll talk to you like a dear old friend if i want. i work here. i do things. i shelve books. or, at least, i shelve books when there is no one else to shelve books, since i am doing other things. i do things. i am older than the kids who shelve books; i was once the kid who shelved books. sometimes i shelve books. there’s more to a library than shelving books, library. you know that. the watercolors in the lobby are like postage stamps from 1950: i won’t ever go to those places, not even when i get there. they say ansel adams...

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