Hampton Branch at Oak Hill, Austin, Texas

Everything feels skewed and strange, but I'm probably still discombobulated from watching Get Out at the Alamo Drafthouse yesterday. There are many across the city, I chose the South Lamar location due to its proximity to the Ruiz library and the fact that it played standard flix (as opposed to the closest location, which only had "art house" showings at later times...I am not sure I would consider The Warriors an art house movie, though it is life changing).

Get Out is smart, cutting, and uncomfortable; it is in many ways the cinematic equivalent of side eye. Good God, Allison Williams with that goddamned bowl of Fruit Loops, glass of milk, having the "time of her life"? I just about fell out of the chair. It pinches in all the soft parts, and if you don't squirm and groan at least once, you are clearly missing the point. Mixing the sociological incongruities and injustices with straight up horror is just brilliant. I don't think I've ever rooted quite so hard for a protagonist (Daniel Kaluuya, shattering) in my life, especially since horror fans are all too aware of the vicious Night of the Living Dead conclusion, where we learn the hard, cold truth that there really is no justice, no fairness, just an ugly white light of the now.

When I pulled up to the Hampton Branch at Oak Hill this morning, the dissociation was still lingering. I felt a little exposed and a lot spread thin, seeing things through a fantastical lens (more on that in a minute) that was not entirely bad, at least until I entered the library.

It is a very small space. All previous small libraries I've documented were nowhere near as small. The only space reserved for deskwork is dead smack in the center of the library's main expressway: On one side, the DVD collection, on the other side, children's books. I had to put on my headphones to block out the constant noise.

It is a library due for refurbishment (it says so on the website) but they have a pretty large collection of books for such a small space. The library is clean and well kept, though, as the website would suggest, new carpet, chairs, etc., would make a huge difference.

What threw me off, especially this morning, was how strange everyone seemed when I walked in through the main doors. The way front desk staff treats patrons when they first arrive makes every difference to people like me (anxiety prone, hyper sensitive, especially when freefloating and not quite "anchored in"). Two women were speaking together at the front desk, then stopped and looked at me pointedly--one beat, two beats, three. I charged forward (never retreat--it is the instinct but feels so much worse in the long run) trying to keep my expression neutral because I know more often than not it is my imagination running wild, and nothing more insidious than that. But the feeling persisted. Since I've been here, the hustle and bustle of this library has been nothing short of Soviet-propaganda-film levels of industry, and for such a small library it's just plain weird. I don't know, perhaps they haven't shelved books in weeks and today is the Big Day. People, people everywhere. All glancing far too often for no logical reason.

My decision to use AirBNB on this trip is a very conscious effort to confront my discomfort in other people's homes. So far my experiences have been mostly positive, but there is always an undercurrent of self consciousness; I am a stranger occupying someone else's space and I am never really welcome. Even if I am, it doesn't matter: In my head, I do not belong here. Most of the libraries I've visited feel like deliberately public spaces. They are a blank slate, an open arena that no one owns and everyone belongs. The Hampton at Oak Hill feels quite the opposite, so it's best I keep it brief. I am going to do some research then book it out of here.

There was one thing, though. That fantastical bit? When I pulled up I found a perfect, shady space at the back of the lot, right on the edge of a large greenspace with two curious indentations.

A giant sat upon yon field.