Habitat

It’s 95 degrees outside.  The AC on the second floor of the library is cranked so high that the woman close-watching Bob Fosse YouTubes on a community computer feels just fine in her orange leggings and long-sleeved shirt.

A man sits two seats down from her, checking Facebook.  He has hospital hair and wears a newborn expression.  He leans to his right, suddenly, and loud-asks an old man what the word is for those ships that come and rescue people.

Rescue ships?

There’s only one person on the second floor who’s checking his phone, and he wears a sport coat and a private smile.  Everyone else is here for the cold air and free WiFi.

The second floor is the place to be if you want to watch little things happen.  If you don’t mind people who talk too loud and try to read over your shoulder as you write.  And if you’re OK with smells you can’t identify that sit stubbornly under plastic and paper.

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