talk like an open book;
posted in lieu of alevelhead.
The eastern branch of the city library closes late on Saturday evenings, to make up for the distinct lack of hours on the following Sunday and Monday. It's an odd schedule, one that always leads to extra comments left in the break room's Suggestion Box, but Eli's never really had any complaints about it himself. Though, if he did, there's the likelihood that he would have just kept it to himself.
He enjoys his work, the quietness of it, the fact that there are always books available to pass the time between this request and that. There's something in the specificity of the Dewey Decimal system that reminds him of himself, the way he's learned to take the contents of his life and break it all down into its individual parts. Late at night, before Eli goes to sleep, he takes all these disassembled bits and files them away on the appropriate shelves in his mind. This one for Eli, this one for Pallas, and never the twain shall meet, he tells himself. Sometimes it's a messy job because not everything is made for breaking down (things tear, they crumble, sometimes they shatter), but Eli's gotten good at it and efficient to boot. The feeling of necessity often motivates that way.
Because Eli never has anything to do on Saturday nights (not totally true, Pallas sometimes has patrol), he often offers to do the shift that closes things up. Check the book drop, shut off the lights, wait for the janitors to empty the last of the bins before ushering them out. Eli appreciates each ritual -- big or small, all of them purposeful. The front entrance locks behind him automatically when it shuts behind him with a heavy thunk. Out of habit, he checks it anyway and is only satisfied when his hand on the knob is met with the full resistance of the lock.
It's a cold night, spattered glossy wet by an unseasonal downpour of rain in the late afternoon. Pulling the collar of his jacket a little closer around his neck, Eli shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to make his easy way down the steps, taking them two at a time.
The eastern branch of the city library closes late on Saturday evenings, to make up for the distinct lack of hours on the following Sunday and Monday. It's an odd schedule, one that always leads to extra comments left in the break room's Suggestion Box, but Eli's never really had any complaints about it himself. Though, if he did, there's the likelihood that he would have just kept it to himself.
He enjoys his work, the quietness of it, the fact that there are always books available to pass the time between this request and that. There's something in the specificity of the Dewey Decimal system that reminds him of himself, the way he's learned to take the contents of his life and break it all down into its individual parts. Late at night, before Eli goes to sleep, he takes all these disassembled bits and files them away on the appropriate shelves in his mind. This one for Eli, this one for Pallas, and never the twain shall meet, he tells himself. Sometimes it's a messy job because not everything is made for breaking down (things tear, they crumble, sometimes they shatter), but Eli's gotten good at it and efficient to boot. The feeling of necessity often motivates that way.
Because Eli never has anything to do on Saturday nights (not totally true, Pallas sometimes has patrol), he often offers to do the shift that closes things up. Check the book drop, shut off the lights, wait for the janitors to empty the last of the bins before ushering them out. Eli appreciates each ritual -- big or small, all of them purposeful. The front entrance locks behind him automatically when it shuts behind him with a heavy thunk. Out of habit, he checks it anyway and is only satisfied when his hand on the knob is met with the full resistance of the lock.
It's a cold night, spattered glossy wet by an unseasonal downpour of rain in the late afternoon. Pulling the collar of his jacket a little closer around his neck, Eli shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to make his easy way down the steps, taking them two at a time.