The Geographer's Library

That which is above is like to that which
is below, and that which is below is like
to that which is above, to accomplish
the miracles of one thing.
By the time I got back to the office, Art had already gone home, and
it was getting dark. If I started for Wickenden now, I’d find a
locked and empty history department when I got there. The day
was over. I would have typed up my notes if I had taken any. Instead I turned
off the office lights, locked the door, and drove back to my empty apartment
by the train tracks. Dinner was two beers and a sandwich eaten staring out the
window. When I first moved here, I liked these small-town quiet nights: I sort
of narrated them to myself. But there’s a fine and time-sensitive line between
monastically romantic and boring. I had been treading it for a while and was
finally slipping over to the Dark—or at least the Dull—Side. I was asleep by ten.
when i got to the office the next morning, Austell McFarquahar had
arrived. I should have expected as much: it was ten-thirty, and Austell
bounded through the door every working day, without fail, at ten. In all the
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