Backing around to
the side opposite the driving rain, I doffed my cap to let the water drip;
waiting was no problem. I scanned the dozens of leaflets clinging to the
kiosk's curved wall, overlapping each other like fish scales: notices of
student events long past and yet to be, and places and things from
urgently needed to available for the taking.
'Hey, ol' man.'
'Yo.' I glanced back. He was in the borderland between the rain and the
shelter, leaning against a patch of soggy leaflets. About seventeen in
years, six in height, and as skinny as a drenched cat. Tangled blond hair,
defeated by the rain, plastered his scalp.
His black T-shirt was wet, as were his frayed and torn jeans and once-
white running shoes. At his feet lay a deflated haversack caked with
whatever it had been dragged through, probably since elementary school.
'Whatcha doin' out on a day like this.'
His flat voice matched the bored, couldn't care less put-on that went with
his years. Squatting, he drew a soil-brown cloth from the haversack and
toweled his head and neck.
'Library,' I said.
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