Library Barry got to go to the library to take the time to read. Everything was perfect. The drone of the quiet was clouding the room. The occasional page turn and shuffle. The squishes of the sneakers pushing on the tight carpeting. It all worked and created great book reading harmony for Library Barry.
He took a deep approving sniff inhale through his nose. "Yes. Satisfactory environment." he thought to himself. He twinkled his fingers in the air. He shifted left and right in his chair to cozy his bunchy underwear into his seat until he found the perfect position. He chose a book among his pile. It was a period romance drama written in the 1970s but set in the 1770s, titled The Gentle Dandy of the Lady by Deeker Bunsingdom. Deeker Bunsingdom was an author Library Barry's competitive rival, Gertrude Rude, had casually mentioned in book club, and Library Barry nodded as if he knew Deeker Bunsingdom's work, even though he didn't, but he didn't want Gertrude Rude to have the upper hand on any of Library Barry's literary knowledge weak spots. Library Barry could not be topped, especially by the smugness of Gertrude Rude.
So Library Barry was all set, surroundings to perfection, to play catch up on Gertrude Rude, when then entering the picture was... The Smacker.
"Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack..." said The Smacker.
Library Barry turned back toward the table to process what was unfolding behind him. It was The Smacker. The Smacker seemed to appear from nowhere. We could not hear The Smacker enter. There was no chair scoot or squeak when The Smacker sat, despite The Smacker's stringent girth. The Smacker had pit stains. The Smacker had sweat. The Smacker had fuzzy little hairs, many on his face. The Smacker took inconsistent breaths. The Smacker had somehow arrived with a stack of big paged old magazines. Many pages to thumb through. Much juice in his smack to keep the smacks from drying. They were not dry snickity smacks. They were wet clockity smacks for sure. Fresh. And loaded with more juicy smacks to come. And the pages. The magazine pages. They turned. They crinkled smooth, and slapped down hard, harmonizing with each smack to create a melody which screamed at Library Barry to not concentrate on the erotically dull prose of Deeker Bunsingdom.
Library Barry had no choice but to relocate to quarters deeper in the library. As he walked away The Smacker's smacks slowly muted, until Library Barry took what seemed to be the perfect seat, even more perfect than before. He claimed his throne and before his posterior could finish stretching the fibers of his oversized-underwear-holding denim, to press against the child safe plastic of the study seat, the smacking has resumed. Louder and closer than ever. It startled Library Barry. A boisterous "Gughh!" escaped his chest. Prompting a shameful barrage of a whole two shushes. "Shhh!" "Shh." Humiliation spread through Library Barry's head and neck like heat. Yet, why did The Smacker receive not a shush? Could the surrounding shushers not hear him?!
The smacking proceeded. Library Barry, being well read, was also resourceful. He wrapped his head in his dense wool scarf and buried his face in The Gentle Dandy of the Lady to block out what he could of the The Smacker's smacking. The smacking persisted. Was it only in Barry's head? Was this smack to taunt him? Was it even there? Among the many things Library Barry disliked were confrontation. But he appeared to have no other choice. It was time to request The Smacker smack less, or at a lower volume. Barry squeezed his eyes closed. He took a breath. The sounds of The Smacker seemed to double. He angled his face toward the sound of The Smacker. He lowered the book. He opened his eyes. And seated before him was The smacking Smacker. And next to The Smacker was a smiling and smacking Gertrude Rude.