Library Hours

The book was dull. I took it with me for a walk. Guys at "The Station" thought I was being a jerk. All I said was it’s hard to read in the dark. Should have gone to "The Edge" or "The Snit," any of the sad bars around. I wasn't picky. I almost got my ass kicked. People are touchy about their looks Especially around a guy with a book. But his look wasn't dull. Or so I thought. I want to paint you, man, the young stud said, dragging his hand in the dust. You're a painter? I had a paint set as a kid but no friends to play with. Left it in the closet where mother threw stuff I’d stopped using ‘til I became skilled: Golf clubs, a fiddle, a mitt, and so on. I never found my little brush. Everything was fine, until my parents said I should leave. She’d help me pack my bags as long as I didn’t disturb my father. He was too busy shouting until we were old enough to know why. He grew a beard, wore rings on every finger, and ate napkins dipped in vinegar. When I took off, they sounded like I’d committed treason, but I know they knew the reason. I miss them every time the sun goes down and I play pinball in my head. Book and I’d just as well be left alone as I told them at “The Station.” We lean on each other when I walk home. Aren’t books funny?