a soft hum of the spinning fans greet you as you strut through the doors, your eyes flicker over to the multiple rows of shelves. From Homer to Kafka, the books were all neatly arranged waiting to be picked. The musky scent of old pages and coffee lingered heavily in the air, the wooden floorboard creak under your feet. And there you see her, cooped up in a corner with her books stacked on the desk. She looks out the window yawning. A small black cat lays by her feet. She looks back at you