Her name was Gwen and she came in a few times a week for story time. As her daughter listened to Red Riding Hood or Three Goats Gruff, she would find me in the stacks. We kissed and touched and held in gentle moans as the whels on the bus went round and round.
The boy came into the library around three in the afternoon. He seemed lost, looking around as if he wondered where we hid the study rooms. He came to the circulation desk where two people stood.
Adolf Henderson walked through the doors of the library on a mission. The door creaked and something sticky made him flex his fingers a few times. The library always felt like that.