I am the Greek, sitting quietly with my goat-hide container of Ouzo aperitif at my side and watching a girl in the corner. She is reading, typing feverishly in this heat and looking up at me every so often. I know she’s noticed me and I’m left wondering why she’s chosen to stay on the floor. She reminds me of the story of Calypso.
The large open windowed architecture allows an enormous tide of sunlight to wash over the space. Elongated shadows extend from each bookshelf like black cathedral spires jutting across the floor. I sit, soundlessly reading building code; internally repeating fact after fact; each a mantra, vocalized in my mind over and over for the benefit of my memory. Rolling and then smashing each into my understanding like olives through a press.
Someday soon, I’ll have my Contractor’s license.