The Library
A young homeless man clad in a black hoodie with the cowl pulled over his head sat on a bench in front of a library. He took a final drag of a cigarette and flicked the butt on the sidewalk. A backpack and can of malt liquor rested near him.
This scene unfolded as I approached the entrance to the library. I passed the man and he blew out a tremendous series of hacking coughs that shook his body.
I entered the library carrying a notebook and picked out the latest edition of Scientific American. I sat in my customary cushy swivel chair and swiveled around so I could stare out a large window that overlooked a creek. It was superb spot to read, write and watch ducks and squirrels.
A light rain began to fall. A squirrel flung itself from alder to maple. Two ducks splashed down into the creek like it was an aircraft carrier.
I placed my notebook on a table, opened the magazine at random, and landed on an article about the various conspiracy theories connected to the origins of Covid-19.
The homeless man from outside flashed in the corner of my eye. He walked by me with the can in his hand. I swiveled the chair around to watch him. When someone enters a library with a can of malt liquor, I will watch what happens.
He walked straight to a shelf and it appeared obvious he knew where he was going. He pulled out a large hardback book with a bright yellow cover and a title lettered with a colorful goofy font. It was a children's book, Dinosaurs A to Z. He tucked it under his arm and went to another shelf. There he pulled out a container holding back issues of Popular Mechanics. He took the book, magazines and malt liquor over to a chair 20 feet away from me and sat down. He set the can on the carpet, the magazines on a table and opened Dinosaurs A to Z.
I swiveled my chair in such a position where I could watch him read. I set down Scientific American and picked up my notebook and started writing what you are reading now.
He thumbed through the children's book in such a manner that suggested he'd done it many times before. Maybe he had a favorite dinosaur. Don't we all?
I thought about my favorite—definitely brontosaurs, herbivores yow know?
The man perused the book for ten minutes and never once sipped the malt liquor. Then he switched to an edition of Popular Mechanics.
Ten minutes later he placed the magazine on a table, picked up the can, and left the library.
I stopped writing and swiveled around back to the creek. My magazine didn't interest me anymore, so I watched the ducks and squirrels instead. A minute later, I saw the man across the creek walking down a sidewalk.