The Section of Warm Books

I walk down the aisle. The books on the shelves are warm, radiating heat against my forearms. I press my hand to the spines of the encyclopedia set. Over by the reading table, a glass of water sits on the dark wood. I tilt the glass, and the water remains at the same level, reflecting the geometry of the empty room. The window across the hall shows bright yellow autumn leaves, though the salt air coming through the vents smells of deep snow. I know the key is still in the pocket of the coat I left in the hall, and I cannot turn around to take it.