I walked past what was left of the Montclair Library. Moss around rotting benches outside. Cracked glass doors. Darn and musty inside. Nothing worth stealing anymore.
I knew this place well. Hours reading papers and magazines, debating issues in the cafe, watching movies, attending art openings and lectures. A damn shame
This is the place I discovered a fine local author--Joe Del Priore. Wiah I could have met him.
It all ended quickly. FBI charged in one day, ordering us outside. Sobbing by workers. What was happening?
Eventually they escorted a group from the conference room out. Media said they were posing as writers, but secretly were studying to become mimes. The plan was to flood our streets with mimes, driving citizens inside, destroying our freedom. A deadly mime cell right in our town.
The library never recovered from the bad publicity and soon closed. One distraught librarian could not find similar work and wound up becoming Mr. Del Priore's personal assistant. On the surface, not so bad. But, rumor has it, the man never uses deodorant and talks to himself.
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