WHO: Noah and Andrew WHAT: chilling/reconnecting with his inner English teacher WHERE: the library WHEN: mid-afternoon, October 5th RATING: low-medium, probably
In a safehouse as spread out as Sing Sing, everyone probably had a place they liked to take refuge besides their room. Noah hadn't been staying here for very long, but his preferred place was the library. True, it wasn't as extensive as the New York public library, to which he'd become accustomed in the time he'd lived there, or the one he'd visited in California, but there was plenty of material in a number of different genres. Classics, modern, biographies, novels, you name it.
Noah had been working a few extra security shifts, which he was glad to do, because it was entirely possible for a guy to lose his mind if he sat around twiddling his thumbs all the time. That was Noah's theory, anyway. Add that to his usual not sleeping well and he'd have to admit that he was tired. But everyone around here could easily complain about something if they got started, right? He'd worked hard this week thus far, and thus he felt justified to take a little while to sit and pore over some books.
He'd never been the sort who got into reading on a Kindle or on a computer screen; he was old-school in that respect. He liked to have a book he could hold in his hands or, in this case, open on a table's surface. He was sitting at the table nearest to the windows, his chin propped on one hand as he flipped through a poetry anthology. There wasn't anyone here who knew him that well save for maybe one person, and since they weren't speaking, it wasn't an issue; people who saw Noah with his tats and his sometimes surly attitude were surprised that he could read at all or that he'd be interested in it.
An observer might be even more amused if they happened to notice the disparity in the few books he'd taken off the shelves: the poetry anthology, a true crime volume, The Great Gatsby and a Western novel. Nobody could have said that Noah didn't have eclectic tastes.