Mr. Deeps?

Mr. Peeps is reading The Sunlight Dialogues by John Gardner. Yesterday he came in earlier than usual, maybe anticipating the warm day, wearing a baseball cap for the first time and a dirty slate-gray polo. He pulled a book from Fiction, the same one as on every previous visit for the past two weeks, and parked himself in Young Adult, whence he could get a clear shot of the entrance without being seen from the circ desk because of the newspaper shelf in between. At noon he left, leaving the book behind on the end table beside the chair. Julie and I both were curious about the book, and I volunteered immediately and wordlessly to go see what it was. Tara and Julie seemed surprised at Mr. Peeps' choice of reading, but, moreso, disappointed: This somehow made him more of a real, thinking human being,; a little more sympathetic than just pathetic. None of us want that. We want him to be a conscienceless, amoral villain. Moreover, I want him to be less like me. He came back a half-hour later in a pink polo but still in the ball cap.

Today Mr. Peeps didn't come in. Every now and then Paul would make a sweep of the library, peering down each aisle, eyes slitted. I'm sure Mary told him. Paul would be just the guy to confront him and give him every reason to yell, "Harassment!" Peeps missed a good show, though. Multitudes of pulchritude. I know, horny as I am right now, that my standards of beauty broaden every day, but today's display would have held up to my highest, most sated standards, if only for showing more skin. I'm glad Peeps wasn't in, I wanted that show to myself and I didn't want to be reminded of who I might be. The book reminded me well enough.