The library smells like, oh, I don't know, maybe a nice roasted chicken. This is both cruel and unusual.
At least the plexiglas has been installed and elevator service to all floors has been restored as of yesterday. Otherwise I would have to, I don't know, sulk at the surly sercurity persons escorting me on and off the elevator on the seventh floor. I realize that doesn't sound particularly threatening. Perhaps "shooting up the lobby with machine guns" would be more appriopriate. After I put on my black vinyl outfit I haven't got, and load my machine gun which I haven't got either.
The library also doesn't have copies of any of the Matrix-based pop-philosophy books which I need for my project. Damn them. Camping out in the Barnes and Noble café with Pan it is.
