Librarians

Many of the librarians here are delicious, wearing their skirts and summer shoes not quite sandals, blessedly bare-legged and bespectacled.

None are pretty in the conventional, 'media' sense. None are generic pop culture princesses. All, however, are goddesses, rivaling Aphrodite herself.

I invent needs to talk to them, saying to the one with darkest hair and thickness of calf, "I'm looking for the Bellows translation of the Poetic Edda."

I get to stand next to her while she digs on the computer, also standing. She is not perfumed, but I can smell her nonetheless. I can smell her cleanness. Her white skin is electric, milkiness hued with delicate pink. She allows one shoe to fall distractedly from her foot as she types, and rests her blood-red toenails curled on the library carpet.

Um, I forgot what I was talking about….