...how can this be?
(Drunk people come into the library fairly frequently, actually.)
Just the other day, a man leaned over my desk and I was surprised his breath didn't look more like engine exhaust.
He wanted to come around to my side of the desk. He wanted a book on Thoreau. He wanted me to tell him about transcendentalism. He wanted to chat in the 800s. He wanted me to laugh at his jokes.
It was late. I had my hand on my knife. I just wanted to go home.