By Jim Campain Guest Writer
I hopped off my bike before it came to a complete stop and leaned it against a tree. Then I bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I was ten years old and at the library?
The race to get there—dodging cars and dogs, and ignoring the blare of horns—contrasted with the solemn silence upon entering the library’s austere interior. Safely entombed...
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