Library, Monday

[intotheout]

The song Tip had sung on Saturday had kickstarted a funky-indie-music-by-black-women binge that late on Sunday transformed into a black-woman-poets binge. Other than Maya Angelou, she hadn't really heard of any before. Which was terrible. She had a whole rant about ignoring the accomplishments of black women in public schools building, but it was going to have to wait until she finished reading the collected works of Audre Lorde.

Bill kept trying to get her attention on something the books were doing or weren't doing or -- something -- but Tip kept waving him away.

She was busy just now, okay?

[open!]