250

It depresses me that libraries now rent more movies and computer time than books.  The library in my neighborhood used to be decent, in a 1960s sort of way, but now it's rundown and misused.  Shelf space for books has been radically reduced because, of course, you need room for more computers.  Patrons enter and head straight for the DVDs.  The building has become dingy.  The part of town in which I live used to be nice, but now nearly every other house has been torn down and the empty spots are filled with tires and weeds.  There are many empty commercial buildings, one right next to the library, even, and the businesses that have opened seem only to be three options: fashion, cell phone, and hairdresser.  Sad.  No used bookstore.  No comic store.  No toy shop.  No movie theater.  Not even a junk shop--and, no, pawn brokers don't count.

249

It is my secret, and it's what makes me smile as I walk through crowds of people who don't know and can't tell.  Maybe they wonder why I'm so happy.  A person I knew from work called me "serene", which is a good word for it.  My secret is the same secret everyone carries with them, only I understand it better: I am dying.

248

Script pitch: Love story about a shy man who suddenly finds himself reaching old age without a companion.

Lead role: Gene Wilder

Opening: An older man (mid-70s) sits alone in his rather large, neat, beach-front cottage home in Connecticut.  We see him go about his morning, making himself tea, doing the puzzle in the paper, and painting in his home studio.  We finally see him looking in his calendar.  Forthcoming are a few doctor's appointments and one art opening that looks important.  The man looks rather disappointed that he doesn't have a more full social calendar.  He makes a decision and grabs his "little black book".  The entries are old, and many are crossed off with notes like "married", "moved to California", and "deceased".

247

The sheets were blessedly cool and smooth, and the pillow so soft.  Janet eased into bed, making sure she enjoyed every moment of lying down.  Naps, she felt, had been under-appreciated so far in her life, and she didn't want to waste another one by ignoring the beautiful feeling of weariness slipping into rest.  Though her muscles ached, Janet used them to sink inch by inch into a bed that had never, ever felt this good.  Her feet sighed with relief and she stretched her toes.  She released her tied eyes from their increasingly fuzzy work and closed them to better experience the release of her body.  As she drifted away, a space far back in Janet's mind lamented a life ahead with limited opportunities for naps and she reiterated to herself the pledge not to let another nap go without full engagement in the experience.

246

She died from blunt force trauma to the skull.  In greater detail, it was a rock, held in the hand of a man, who repeatedly bashed her on the face and left side of her skull, as he was right-handed.  She lost consciousness, but not as soon as she would have liked.  The whole event was over for her within two minutes, though it carried on for the man another ten.  He struck her with the rock, a piece of cement carried with him for that purpose, for approximately three minutes, one full minute after she was already dead.  He then grabbed her limp shoulders and shook her, occasionally slapping her on the ground, for another minute.  He stood and kicked her body and even jumped on the torso.  The last few minutes were spent shoving the corpse into a plastic garbage can and stuffing bloody garbage from the scene on top.

245

The library was one of the area's oldest and patrons constantly complained about the cramped quarters and librarians constantly complained about the limited technology.  To Shaney, it was an infinite maze of new discovery.  She had favorite spots for quiet reading, secret spots where she found naughty books, and an idea that if she looked in the right place, she would find a hidden room.

Most days in the Henroy Library, patrons could be found on the three computers or browsing the DVD collection.  Only Shaney would be found reading, if you could find her in the stacks.

244

While it wasn't the house they had wanted, it was a house, which seemed a great step up from apartment living.  Despite the lack of running water in the first floor kitchen and the boarded windows across the front, that is.  The pipes had been stolen from the kitchen for the copper, and, like closing the barn door after the cows had left, the city finally secured the windows with plywood shortly after.  Luckily, in this one instance, the robbers had ignored the fact that the house had been converted into a triple.  In all ways, it was bad for the house, excepting that it meant there were two working kitchens.  The home had once been grand, as had the neighborhood, but had been passed from uncaring person to unlucky person to unskilled person through the decades and it was now, like the neighborhood, a shameful wreck.