I am the glum looking girl in the corner by the change machine - laptop balanced on my left knee; notebook on my right; mug of tea on the floor by my left ankle. I feel to sad to work - or maybe, simply, just too lazy and discouraged. Who knows.
There is a lady with the most beautiful hair sitting in front of me. Waves right down to the middle of her spine, and she hasn’t once looked up from her work. I find myself wishing I had her grace - her arms and hands are so delicate and she sits with such poise. So far from my clumpy, cross-legged, belly outwards slump back into my chair.
An overweight man with a beard is standing by the loans desk with his rucksack hitched up onto his nonexistent hip, searching desperately for his library card. I can’t see the librarian, but I can imagine her, mask of perfect patience, but her toe twitches underneath the desk.
The table a little way in front of me is piled high with textbooks and a bag of Malteasers, but it’s inhabitants are nowhere to be seen.
The man sitting down on the far end is typing furiously. There’s a pencil sticking out of his mouth, pointing straight ahead. I wonder if he knows it. I imagine him packing up, carefully putting everything back into his bag in perfect order, yet leaving with the pencil still in place.
I wish I could stay like this for a little while longer. I wish I didn’t have to face what I surely have to face.