At the desk, I ask the librarian if she can help me find the book I’d looked up online. Suck it, Professor Old School. She tells me how to get there and shows me on the map; apparently I’m going to Narnia to find my book on electro-shock therapies.
It’s a climb to get to the top of the stacks and I head back to the rear of the building. There’s no one up here, although I may have just seen a bat. The sun has long since set and the eerie fluorescent lights flicker as I follow the letters and numbers into the furthest recesses of the library. The smell of old books and wet shoes treks along with me through the shelves lining the walls.
I find my book and rather than hauling my ass back down to a carrel in the main area, I find a table against a wall near the back shelves. This part of the library is so desolate, it’s actually rather nice as long as I don’t focus on the alone thing. I pull out a pad and get to work writing down notes on the history and invention of electrocuting and shocking people with severe disabilities and behavioral disorders. Good times. After seeing some of the post-therapy pictures, I make a mental note not to ask Clinton to go for barbecue anytime soon.