My gashing chin leads me to the right and I turn, I turn and, off to the right, I see off to the side of the vaulted room, I see another room, a kind of storage facility, perhaps a garage, in fact, I see two rooms, one deeper and darker than the other and one, yes, and then then then yet another seemingly full of light. In the darker room, garage-like room, milling about, I see more of the slickered figures, now dressed in red and yellow like those outside in the queue, now these inside-figures milling about dragging their bandaged feet in the shadows. I can hear them sliding and crunching, sliding and crunching something beneath their feet as they wander aimless always in mass shifting. I take a few steps closer to and several things clarify. The figures are trodding, on what appears to be, seems like, millions upon millions upon millions of small rectangles of glass framed in paper like like micro-stained glass windows. I pick one up, hold it to the light and the pattern complicates even further, evolving into a destination. I step even closer closer, if I dare and I do, and one of the figures, dressed in yellow, perhaps a child, as small as a child, steps forward, its long dark braids extending from its hood like baby medusas wearing a countenance and and giving me that look, that look, that look, not not not the typical Brown Guy-nian look of hatred, disgust and adoration woven into reverence but something, something, something, how can I say it, something something different, something else. I take a step back, and make an abrupt turn to the left and into the room seemingly full of light.
This this room is the library proper, the black ship’s hull from the outside, now inside something something else altogether entirely, the stacks as it were, and as I look up, I see I see floor upon floor of objects mostly books on transparent shelves veering up up into the skylight. Elevators encased in nothing glide up and down the length of the structure. I take an elevator to the odd floor, having no idea where I am going, disembark and realize I am in the section of the library that deals with language. From their I wander, finding myself in Religion, then Philosophy, then Mathematics, then a very large section on the Ear. From there I lose all direction and, after what seems like hours, I end up in Reference. I grab a few tomes, rifle through them as if I am looking for something, as if I know what I am looking for as if I know from whence I am looking and find a letter. I do not open it instead I put it in my pocket and exit.
When I find myself again in the vault room, the small yellow figure is waiting for me. Or is it I who is waiting for the small yellow figure waiting for me? And this waiting, this waiting this waiting has a valence for now I realize that it reminds of a child I once knew a long time ago perhaps my own but but but but how it that possible?
I continue my exit and am about to to into the foyer and so pass the blue slickered stool-person and and all of sudden out of its shell, the folds of its slicker it juts a pale blue piece of paper, a chit for me to join the others at the cubicles.
I grab the chit, walk over to the child, shove it the blue piece of paper, about face, vamoose the structure, jump into my purring Eldorado (always running, always purring) and take off once again out into what I have no idea only a sinking premonition.