All day I am cold and feel the fog in me. This is a fog that has laid over the city, for it has been quite foggy here in Saint Minneapolis, and gray. Working all the day yet again at my library I, in my laboring travels, slowly collect up books that I'd like to read. But when I go home I know I won't read them. I'll just want to do whatever my dear wife is doing. That's good enough for me. All my wild dreams of reading all these books, sheltered from the cold fog, is what I'd rather be doing now, in place of working another day of my life away in the library.
Not that there's anything wrong with working days of my life away at the library.
Among my side entertainments at the library today, aside from the usual chatting with my co-workers, is to keep an endless stream of AI videos cooking on my phone or on any computer I'm stationed at. A six second clip can take five or ten minutes to process and I can put five clip requests into a queue at a time. Getting magic to happen is largely a matter of playing the odds. What I am working on mostly today involves bringing paintings and sculptures quietly to life. The paintings work better than the sculptures, but when any one of my attempts works, sometimes on the first time, and sometimes on the twentieth, I feel like I have accomplished something astonishing.
In five minutes I'll leave this fiction area where I have been shelving in order to spend my last work hour of the day with the great automated check in machine, one of my most beloved, non-judgmental, and least demanding co-workers.
I have been inside all day, usually far from windows, but the grayness of it all seeps through to every part of the library.
Indeed, I think I hear the strange sound of it raining now.
It's beautiful, but it could be any sound at all.
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