The library had only been closed a minute when the whispers began.
“You know, it is a universal truth that a single volume in possession of a beautiful cover, must be in want of a sequel.”
“Shut yer rot, Austen, ya gloopy devotchka.”
“Double plus right.”
“As God is my witness, I’m never going to listen to you all gripe again.”
“This is the best of nights, it is the worst of nights.”
Suddenly, from the corner of the library with primary colors and board books and beanbag chairs came a roar of fierce joy:
“Let the wild rumpus start!”
Previous Week Update:
On February 13, I posted the story The Wrong Tourist, about a person posing and getting their camera stolen. So, in a fit of meta-fiction, I went down and posed by the statue in the photo prompt, handing my camera to a stranger to take my picture. However, instead of a creepy old man, it was a young woman with a much better camera than mine, so I don’t think she would have wanted it.