I’m working this afternoon (writing, not job) in the reading room of the Schwarzman Building of the New York Public Library. That’s the building with the big marble lions out front.
The building itself is gorgeous, and the reading room is almost distractingly beautiful.
That picture looks like it’s out of 1988, but it still looks pretty much the same, just with laptops. The façade of the building (thank you, Spellcheck, but façade is perfectly correct with the ç) is awesome in the proper sense of the word.
Inside, it’s all marble and brass and shadow, full of history and secrets. It makes me feel like I should be in period dress.
It’s well lit, it’s not too warm, the internet is fast and free, and there are outlets built into the tables, so you can work without burning battery. People are even respectful of the rules here, which is delightfully at odds with the typical New York-y sense of entitlement. Everyone is quiet. No one is using a cell phone. No one is eating or drinking. I may come here more often. They even have real-life literary visual gags!
Forgive me. I’m delirious from the fumes of the man next to me, who smells strangely and strongly of pickles. No lie.
P.S. Pickle Man just left, and I was not just being mean. The pickle smell is gone. For true.
P.P.S. Dozing Caulfield finally woke up, pulled off his red hunting cap, and started listening to some Sade rip-off through headphones so crappy I can sing along from across the table. Yay.