His wife costs tax payers millions by refusing to move into the White House. The Secret Service is looking into leasing space in Trump Tower…. Think about that. We have to pay for Trump’s security to buy space in Trump’s building because his wife refuses to move.
He costs the taxpayers millions with each trip to Mar-a-Lago, his resort, where people pay lots of money to stay where he stays and take pictures with Trump’s security detail who carries the nuclear codes. It also costs the city’s police department thousands in overtime pay.
All this profiting off the office might only make me pissed off, and not nauseous with rage, if he wasn’t such a damned hypocrite on top of it all.
libraries are so full of magic you know? like, of course you know, but i just… there’s a Feeling in libraries. because so many life changing moments happen there, just by picking up the right book. it’s magic in potential.
i want a book set in the real world except that places can accumulate magic. not people with magic, but places where so many first kisses and Shit I Get It Now moments and Happiest I’ve Ever Been moments have happened that when you walk in you can feel the air buzzing on your skin and suddenly everything from your breath to where you step feels volatile and Different. you stare too long at one spot and you swear you can see a scene that happened two years ago playing out in flashes as quick as blinking. you sneeze and the entire room seems to jump before settling back into place. the whole place is Listening to you, leaning in and trying to catch your attention with things that are not quite happening, not quite possible, in a way that you can’t exactly feel until you step outside and are suddenly aware that this place isn’t Watching you the way the other place was.
libraries would be the most like that, the most full of watchfulness, the most full of possibility. small paper creatures scale the shelves like mountains. blow out a long stream of breath and pages on the other side of the room ruffle expectantly. close your eyes and run a hand across the spines, somehow knowing each book your fingers slip over. everyone’s magic in a library.