Lonely on a Friday Night

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Between the talks of Chinese takeout and how to play Mancala the clock ticks on.

As a week of classes reaches its end students are nowhere to be seen at Herrick Library. Ten o’clock on a Friday night isn’t the most popular time to dive into the textbooks; no it isn’t nearly close enough to class time for most to think of the clouds of work looming overhead.

In the student’s absence the silence is heightened into a delicate extraction of the hallow space. Every corner of the building cries out to the acute listener. A tour of the building is offered to those who resist the urge to indulge in their headphones. From couches of BookEnd Cafe carried to the rattling keys of the front desk attendant. Punch downward. Vibrations into the tiles beneath his feet. Pages of DVD’s are flipped restlessly in their case. Throw aside. Discarded like the books of students tonight. Water boils in BookEnd Cafe for its decent into the cup of a lone researcher. Wisps upward. Sounds together in unison across the empty expanse.

Outside rain. Beating on. Empty tonight.

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