You worked your summer away in a library. You didn't hate it, but it wasn't your favorite. It wasn't like you had friends to hangout with anyways, but your dust allergies and your anxiety often got the best of you. The grandfather clock ticked away on the wall. Counting the seconds as you fiddle with a pen behind the desk. You sniffle and sneeze, rubbing your temples. You wish for something to change, nobody goes to a library. You wish for something to make your library life more interesting. You clench your eyes and pray. And when you open them you see a boy. In a billowing white shirt. He gives you a lopsided smile. His glasses sit on his face. The front of the billowing white shirt is tucked neatly into a pair of plaid trowsers. He looked like he was from the 1960s. His hair cropped neatly, he held a book that was leather and dusty. When you stutter out how can you help him, he disappears, in front of your eyes. And then reappears, slightly see through. You had wished for a more interesting summer, but not one with a dead boy in it. Let alone his ghost.