““Lynnette and me were wondering that, if it’s alright with ya, since it’s Thursday night, ya know, ‘thirsty Thursday,’ and we’re kinda invited to this party, well we thought that maybe ya could close the library without us tonight, eh?” Autumn asks, standing in front of the circulation desk where I sit with a worn copy of poetry. She can’t help playing with her long brown hair, nervously pulling strands from the back while straightening it out. At the same time, she is casting glances at Lynette who is watching us from the racks of current journals. I don’t glance up at Autumn because I don’t need””
