On a cold Saturday last November I needed a place to work, and decided to head to a nearby branch of the Albany Public Library, a few blocks from my home. I found the place packed, with every seat taken on both floors. The library was warm; by this point in the fall, the city’s parks and streets were not. Eventually a seat opened up, and I unpacked my bag and opened my book. But after a few minutes, an altercation at the reference desk broke my concentration.
A man was visibly upset; he’d been trying to use the bathroom, it sounded like, but some other patron had been in there a long time—too long—and accusations were flying.
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