Spin a little tale with me, won't you?
I am the girl in the corner--yes, the one crosslegged on the floor, with a laptop sitting on the crook of one knee, only slightly concerned about the growing scent of heating metal. It's a warm day, unseasonably warm, and the laptop's tiny plastic fans are whirring with a vengeance. They probably have some martyr complex.
Yes, I'm the weirdo shunning the comfort of a chair and leaning on my backpack instead. I reach behind me to yank a large volume out of the bookshelf at my back, and like an obedient dog it falls open against my other knee. My fingers tap a frenzied foxtrot across the keyboard, and the tiny fans whine in protest.
Don't think I can't see you looking at me, sitting there leonine two tables away. The library shelves throw an air of dangerously patient reserve over your face, but I can tell. You're curious.