Short Stories
The city’s libraries aren’t long on hours
I go to my branch almost every day. It’s just two blocks
down the street and around the corner. Half the time I take my computer and
write by a window that looks out on unvarnished East 23rd Street. I
always look over the new books. I enjoy the habit of going there. I often go on
Saturdays for an hour or so. I’m grateful to have a close-by library.
The branches here aren’t open 9:00-9:00 or 10:00-10:00 seven
days a week like they are in the old suburb of Cleveland where I used to live,
or in Wyoming where I go to visit one of my three kids. More like 10:00-6:00 on
average and, not on Sunday. That’s pathetic/embarrassing/sinful for a city that
thinks itself so literate and progressive. Where do city school kids do
homework or write papers or do a project on their own or with their school
friends? In crowded apartments, that’s where. Odd isn’t it? In such a
sophisticated world city. How can it be so?
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