i'll want a rib.


as i was checking out two books, house on mango street and black mesa, from the watsonville public library, an old white man wearing a cowboy hat was talking to himself:

"i'm sick and tired of it. but what can i do about it? i'm not hungry enough." his voice rose, and it was clear that he was scaring the people around him. i even locked eyes with him at one point. as he exited the building, he mumbled something angrily to himself, then, loud and clear: "but i'll want a rib!"

the librarian, a forced, nervous grin pinned to her face, thanked me and met me on the other side.

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