The stuffy beige is alleviated by the slightly unbuttoned windows. They let the sweaty voices of students in, echoing, banging. The blinds bulge with blinding light, a fly or two settle here and there: on a book of Dryden's, books on Dryden, books on Dryden's theories, books on Dryden's hobbies, laundry lists and sex life. Big breaths, bottles lined up like a squadron about to fire water down the desk bound. Their wrists are taut from the writing, their legs part to let air circulate, a lock or two sticks to the back of their neck. The moment comes when above a partition eyes catch, and then shy. Between the shelves, looking for PQ 4563.Z3 you spy a lone leg straining, further up a belly rubs against the ledge, elsewhere an arm. Either side of the book path are creatures with large desks for legs, rectangle merpeople undulating with boredom.