Central Library. More home than home is. There is a routine, a rotation.

Two scripts.
    One DVD
        One non-fiction industry book
            Two non-fiction in areas of interest (Love & the Brain, Asian crime studies)

I did what nobody does in Los Angeles. I stopped and sat and let the sounds occur to me.
To my left, the kind of chatter you hear in a cafeteria. To my right was the silence of the adult learning center.
The nicest room in the place, comfort for idiots and the unfortunate.
But nobody was there. They were all across the hall in the DVD section.

Sick yellow paint, the cheapest wall sconces, fancy hanging lights.
A cane taps along on the tiles. These are the people who surround me.
Intensely fat eight-year-olds. Old women in suits with luggage totes. A group of black people walk by, one talk about a Pizza Hut offer as if quoting from a brochure. A slender white man trails the lingering scent of baby powder. Please just one person spontaneously mention Faust in this lifetime.

I couldn't move for a long time, even to look around. It has been exactly three months to this day that somebody has bothered to smile at me from the middle of themselves.
On this three month anniversary, dark history repeated itself.