The library door moaned open, a deep groan cut the morning silence, the sun peeking through high windows, motes of dust drifting like lethargant depressives.
Gezza entered, sneaker scuffing clean floors, the Playbook banging with no noise in his bag—the old sweat and groans still stinging his skin.
Marie was seated at the circulation desk, her head stooped over a bulky book, glasses on her nose, others on her fingers, Two glasses, he said to himself?
He swaggered by, resting against the desk, wood chilly in his palms. "Hey, wassup."
She did not raise her eyes, turning the pages with a rustling sound. There was a silence, then her eyes moved towards him, bored. "What?"
Just thought we should hang out, he said, grinning cocky, voice low.
You know, because you are the only one who knows my secret. He stood still, and sniffed, scent of old books and her vanilla. "And don't say you didn't miss me."
