Bibliophile

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Every morning Syd arrived for work, the boy was already waiting patiently at the door. It had been this way ever since he had first taken the job, such that to Syd the boy’s presence had become a kind of constant. The boy would not say a word when he approached the door, but would respectfully step back from the weathered stoop so as to permit Syd to place his right palm on the sensor plate, unlock the door, and step into the small concrete building. Only after Syd had entered himself would the boy follow at a respectful distance, shuffling idly and staring at his feet in the cramped atrium while Syd made the necessary opening rounds—turning on the lights, powering up the computers, and making sure the holo-printer was not jammed, as Larce Noel had been running the infernal machine well past closing last night and he was less than diligent about making sure the print heads were clean when he was done. Once Syd was convinced that he would not have to scrape dried substrate out of the machine he returned to the front desk, smiled at the boy, who was still standing silently, and flipped the antique sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

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