The Fierce Librarian
“Um,” she said nervously. “I’m looking for the Times. December 21, 1996.”
It was March 15. His last day at work.
All the while he plotted his escape. He got his film degree from the University of Illinois at Chicago. He formed a punk-rock band. He looked around for work elsewhere. He found none. Four years ago he got passed over for a big promotion and realized what he had to do. He enrolled at Rosary College.
During the course of the day, Richmond said good-bye to his regular patrons.
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“There are some people who come in and they’re just assholes. They’re just ‘gimme this, gimme that.’ And there are other people who are very polite. This one guy who’s been coming here at least as long as I’ve been working here, very well dressed guy, he’s gotta be in his 60s. Guy wears glasses. Doesn’t talk much. He always comes in. Richard Lindberg, the guy who wrote the book about the White Sox and the new stadium–he comes in a lot. There’s a guy who’s a sportswriter. His name is Walt Wilson. There’s a number of people. Street people. This one guy who comes in, always in a suit and tie, very polite and very well-spoken. He had been coming in for a year before I realized it was always the same suit. And always the same tie. I just started noticing that there were holes in the elbows of the suit and it was held together by safety pins.”
A man came into the room.
