There is something dripping from above. It is not sacred. It is not holy. It is something much like resin and something that looks like coffee, but it is sticky and it is dripping onto my computer. I blame the bank that this library used to be. I blame the 60’s architecture for its fallible structures. I blame myself for my sense of fatality, as I wipe away the dark brown splatters that plop across my ergonomic desk, only to have them reappear like morning. But it is the library and I am only an assistant. It is a library, but not filled with fiction as one is accustomed to thinking of as fiction. It is a law library and the aisles and shelves are there to mock and repel. The books are for the desperate and dispossessed, that majority that cannot afford a lawyer, but are smart enough to realize that the law is hovering over them and they better damn well consult it. And so, I too have an issue hovering over me: a dripping, sticky substance that I cannot name. It is a metaph0r, I suppose.
Caroline Bracco: E-Portfolio 