After searching for a table on the second floor I began my journey up the secret stair to the third floor where I am endlessly teased by the people who are taking up tables that are meant for four people. And as the search continues I see people I have never seen in the library since the beginning of the semester. I call them the hopeless ones. For they come only to try to scrape a passing grade and think the library will somehow give them the strength to do so. But they underestimate the distracting power the library can have a foolishly pick a table on the talking floor where the run into friends and talk for hours on end while their hopes for a good grade quickly fade into dreams of grandeur. This semester is no different. I fear every table will be full this time, and hope of a secluded window seat to finish the remainder of my work grow dimmer by the hour. The time is near, the parking deck is at almost full capacity, I hope to find a table but a hope is all it can be.
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