Someone will have found them by now.
The Senior Librarian, I filed her behind Crime Fiction. She’ll probably recover, given time, but she doesn’t have that much time before retirement.
The younger one… meh. She’s folded neatly into the space between Sci Fi and Historical Romance. Not in such a bad way, but probably so traumatised she won’t speak again.
Job done there then.
I settle down on a park bench, leafing through my new acquisitions, selecting the latest Victoria Hislop.
The journey begins.
Seagulls wheel overhead, diving, keening, sending a warning to anyone approaching.
Silence please, woman reading.
“I had found my religion: nothing seemed more important to me than a book. I saw the library as a temple.” Jean Paul Sartre.
My first library – an impressive facade, vaulted ceilings, hushed voices, muffled conversations, soft footsteps. My current 1960’s style library boasts the noisiest staff ever, all conversing about nothing in particular at full volume. And even when working single-handed, one librarian (nice woman, I’m sure), insists on voicing every thought out loud… ‘now, I think I’ll catalogue the new releases… and then maybe a nice cup of tea, and after that….’ Grrrr! Someone whom I’m sure knows how to behave around a library, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, leads the Friday Fictioneers out again this week. Thank you Rochelle, vent over.