Thursday, April 26, 2018
Why they come
It's a beautiful late April day, almost 70 degrees, sunny, and the last snow, which a mere week ago today (as I write) was a foot and a half on the ground, is outside melting down to bizarre, misshapen nubs. The trees, usually contemplative and wide thinkers, are obsessing about budding and nothing else. And the grass, well the grass, who gives a fuck about the grass.
And inside the library it is packed. Every seat, every stool, every comfy chair is spoken for. Row after row of people are quietly poking away raptly on a computer or device, whether their own or one of ours. And as I push my cart of books along for a little afternoon shelving my heart cries out:
"Go outside everyone. I have to be here all day, you don't!"
But my head wonders:
"Why do all these people come here just for a chair and a small slice of counter, to wile a day away on a computer?"
But as usual around here I barely pose the question before I make up an answer:
In America those with time have nowhere to go, and those with somewhere to go have no time.