to stay inside today would have been to sin. i've been told that "to sin" is "to miss the mark," and while i'm unsure as to the consequences that may befall the archer whose arrow is embedded in the brush, i decided not to take any chances. i rolled out of bed relatively early and was sitting on my footboard, enjoying the sunday morning public radio and cheerfully applying a layer of red lipstick, when the door creaked. "ohmygod, kirsten. you're completely stuck in the forties." i peered at my sister over the rims of my glasses. she was leaning against the doorframe, cradling our sweet little sophie in one hand (yes, she can be held in one hand) and adjusting her perfect blonde hair with the other. i didn't see how i could be "stuck" anywhere except where i was, and i told her so. she shook her head. "you were born in the eighties. you made it into the nineties, like everyone else. then you slid back into the sixties, and now...well, look at what you're wearing. what's next, a powdered wig?" i stuck out my tongue and threw a pillow. there really wasn't anything else to do. my sister laughed and disappeared, and soon my radio was drowned by the rentals. i sighed. oh well. i was supposed to go out today, anyway. i grabbed my hat and my handbag and a stack of books and took my seat behind the wheel. the sun glared at me, reflecting off the shiny steel cylinders of the brewery as i sped over the bridge. i donned my large, black sunglasses, a recent purchase from an overpriced vintage shop, and smiled. i must have looked like i was en route to some sort of james bond-themed superbowl party. i've been looking for a book. "egalia's daughters," written by a gerd brantenberg, first published in 1941. it's required reading for an anthropology course i'm taking, and the campus bookstore has been of no help whatsoever. i've called every bookshop in the greater milwaukee area, save a handful of dusty corner shops with names like "jezebel's oracle." i called all of the waukesha county libraries, too, and found nothing. so today, as a last resort, i parked outside milwaukee's central library and resolved to spend the afternoon reading in a quiet corner. if the book was there, i wouldn't be able to check it out because i'm no longer a resident of milwaukee county. central library is something of a marvel...a great, white, domed structure nestled amongst towering cathedrals and run-down hotels. i pushed on the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. the walls, the floor, the stairs, the ceiling, all constructed of a rich, caramel- swirled marble...i felt like i was standing in a bucket of ice cream. i mean, i wasn't cold, and my feet weren't sticking to the floor, but...bah. you know. so...egalia's daughters. it was there, of course. the card inside the front cover indicated that nobody has checked it out since it was shelved in 1984. i hugged the lonely book to my chest and found a vacant table near a window, and summoned all of my motivation to read the entire novel in the hour and thirteen minutes before the library closed. i had covered roughly seventy-two pages when i was disturbed by a loudly-whispered conversation several feet away. "fuckin hell! i haven't touched a rock in a week, and i've been off the smack for two days now!" "lies, man. if you'd been off the smack for two days, you wouldn't be sitting there grinning like a fuckin asshole." despite my best efforts, i glanced up from the explicit sex scene i'd been contentedly absorbing. two skinny men in dirty jackets were seated at the next table. one was hunched over on his elbows, spitting profanities at the other, who was balancing his chair on the rear two legs and staring at the wall. i must have been looking for longer than i'd intended, because i suddenly found that the one who'd been gazing at the wall was now looking me straight in the eyes. his mouth twisted into an ugly smirk, and he mouthed something at me and licked his thin lips. the other was still mouthing off. i scowled, then shuddered and gathered up my belongings, returned the book to the shelf, and marched towards the door, my heels clattering over the cold marble. only seventy-two pages. it looks like i'll be placing an order at amazon. it's six thirty on a sunday night, and i have an essay due tomorrow. before i go to bed, i must read the second half of "motiba's tattoos" and two chapters of my history textbook, then regurgitate the information into three to five pages, stapled together with my name in the upper right-hand corner. i haven't posted in awhile. this was boring. apologies. love kirsten Care2 make the world greener! http://www.care2.com - Get your Free e-mail account that helps save Wildlife! +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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