iolfree entered the reading room
through a pocket door. The room
made him a little uneasy: all the
furniture was made of plate glass.
The floor and ceiling were some
sort of mirrored glass, as were
all four walls. In the corner
was a ceiling light with
a long cable almost touching the floor
with some old-tech Edison bulb.
All he could see really was reflections
of reflections - everywhere.
The work of a madman ?
The dog had more sense than to set foot 
in there.
On a glass shelf he could see all
the text files that he had written.
He picked up a text file:
'Authority of serenity', 
admired its monospaced typography and
placed it back.  He tidied up all the
garbage. Using a fountain
pen, he wrote out a new text file,
something about recursiveness
and added it to the shelf. By putting
a file there it would appear on gopher.
And he worked a little on another text
file about the 1920s.
It was not finished - he liked to toy with
the words and to procrastinate. Before long,
everyday life beckoned. He withdrew from
the room. Although the room was quite 
disorientating, it had nevertheless been a 
relaxing break from the quotidien.
 / / / iolfree