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The Library
Beautifully big windows
light up the back room
away from the bustling entrance
and the rowdy children's section.
I settle down at a desk with a warm lamp
I see only one person dosing
in the armchair with green polka dots
across the room.
It's quiet
almost noiseless except
the occasional
shuffling of footsteps on the smooth floor,
the turning of a page from a thick textbook,
the faint scratching of my pen on paper.
Taking a deep breath
in through the nose and
also out through the nose
to maximize scent but
minimize sound...
I smell
the soft fragrance of yellowing, worn books
mingling with the odor of sweat
radiating off those who have stumbled through the doors
in search of air conditioning.
I smell
the dark wooden walls
and the dusty carpet trampled by the thousands of people
who have also walked through these halls.
I smell
baby powder wafting in from the children's section,
shining with young laughter and excitement.
Another ray of sunlight hits my notebook
having spilled in
through those big glass windows.
So,
despite the spotty wifi,
despite the small piles of gum stuck upside down
underneath the desks,
despite the occasional interruptions
marked by childish squeals and laughter,
This is where I want to be.
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The local library is one of my favorite places to study, and with its flaws, it is simply the most perfectly imperfect place to be on any day of the week.