Michael walked through the hotel with his coffee. Trying to wake up. He hadn’t really looked anywhere else other than his room or in a book. There was the long stairway with its green carpet. The windows and the wooden booths along the wall. This was just outside of the library. He guessed not many people used it anymore. Mostly because he hadn’t seen a soul other than Rachael and the old woman running the place.
He ventured in among the shelves looking at all the titles.
Someone passed the end of the aisle. Causing him to look. Maybe it was nothing. His insomnia. But there was a book. On the table.
A summer in yellow.