[i]"That...that would be ok with you guys, right?"

"...Why is it...not...?"[/i]

Mitchel Stowe slowly opened his eyes to the light flooding from the window and the morning breeze coming through the slightly ajar opening in it. 

[i]Another dream like that...I really need to get that out of my head.[/i]

He brushed his hair out of his eye as he leaned up in his bed, looking out the window to the Library. He thought that white always suited a library, that it could represent not only the pages of the books within but also the white of the canvas of one's mind before it's painted by a book. Looking to his right, he picked up the book that he was reading before he went to bed. 

[i]The Great Gatsby...read that a bit too many times.[/i]

He pushed his covers back and stretched out, sending a satisfying shiver down his spine. Mitchel hopped out of bed and got in the shower. 

~

After the long, arduous task of drying his hair, Mitchel went through his normal morning routine to get ready for the day to start. Once he was dressed, he made sure he had everything. 

[i]Let's see...book...bookmark...library key...PFP...that should be it.[/i]

He started out of his bedroom door and walked down the hall to his kitchen.

[i]Oh, right...food.[/i]

Mitchel rummaged through the cupboard to find something simple for breakfast. Oatmeal wouldn't do. Besides taking too long to make, it had a tendency to get stuck in his teeth sometimes and for greeting library patrons, that just wouldn't do. Toast would be a bit messy and he didn't want to show up with jelly on his face or anything. He grabbed a decent-size granola bar and headed through the living room and out the door. 

It was quite a beautiful day. The sun was shining, but it wasn't so hot as to be uncomfortable. Mitchel walked slowly;he didn't have to be at the library for about 15 minutes and it was just across the street. He observed the building itself. The large, shining white paint was recent so there weren't many imperfections. He took pride in that. Some of the old buildings in this town had chipped paint or other things like that. Mitchel didn't consider himself a perfectionist by any means, but there was nothing wrong with having a little pride in that, he figured. 

He finished his granola bar and got to the front. He pulled out the key and twirled it around for a second before putting it in the keyhole and turning it. Mitchel opened the door
and entered his world of paper and bindings.