STORIES TO TELL
THEY WERE ALL LINED UP NOW, PULLED FROM THE ROAD. LEFT THEIR FATE UNSURE. EACH HAD ITS STORY TO TELL, BUT NO ONE TO LISTEN. ONLY THEIR MARKS TOLD OF THEIR DAYS….
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DRESSED UP BUT NO PLACE TO GO
They were left parked on a back lot, having run the roads of their time. Rusted and scratched, stranded now, but wearing small slices of what it was like. Still dressed they were ready, but no place to go…
THE MAN IN STUDY ROOM A
The library was small by todays standards, just one floor staffed by a group of long time employees including Emmy. Everything about the library showed it’s age even the AC which emitted a muffled low mechanical noise. White noise most thought, but in reality just aging equipment. You could not help but think a librarian had a perfect job, seemingly apart from the harsh reality of trying to struggle against the myriad of forces effecting ones life on the outside. Here the movements of the day were measured. The gathering and restocking of books. There were technical names for this only librarians knew, CREW and MUSTIE. Acronyms for continuous review, evaluation and weeding of books. Always gauging if a book became too muskie or ugly to keep on the shelf. Emmy didn’t admit it to herself, but working there for years colored your views on people and life. You started to classify them, especially the regulars. The elderly man who road his bike each day to the library and studi...