Project 1 Notes

Hayden Library notes:

From where I sit, I see bobbing heads ascending the stairs.
The smart, prepared people brought umbrellas to school today.  Humidity permeates the air.
People walk through the puddles with sloppy shuffling sounds.  The mesquite trees drip as it rains.
A girl seated in the cafe smiles to herself and reads a text message. She's beaming but doesn't know that I'm watching her.
People around me are all moving to the same destination. This underground entrance is the only way to get into the library.
Water stains the concrete walls. I feel like I'm in a concrete basin. The water is collecting everywhere--on the stairs and in the walkway.
A guy typing on a mac with headphones, stops to stare intently at a puddle. He stares for at least a minute.  I start to wonder if he's doing the same assignment as I am.
People unknowingly dash their feet against tiny bubbles left by the raindrops.  It's interesting really, right as the bubbles surface, they're stepped on by students hurriedly stomping up and down the stairs.
People are literally smoking in my face. I think the law is that you have to be 20 ft from a public place.  But I guess the law doesn't apply when it's raining.
A man in sunglasses, a dress suit, and holding a briefcase walks down the stairs, pauses at the last step for fifteen seconds before trudging up the stairs again. Go figure, he was the only person who wasn't dashing about frantically trying to escape the rain and clutching some sort of pathetic excuse for a head-covering. Instead he moved slowly without an umbrella, with his head up, and didn't seem to care that he was getting drenched in his business attire.
There's some interesting types of people walking into the library today. We have girls in matching velour track suits, guys in bro tanks, people in ASU colors, people in things that might be pajamas, skaters unable to longboard, smart people with umbrellas. Right as a smoker leaves, another takes its place.
Everybody is staring at some sort of electronic device.
I can't really hear the sound of the rain because the cafe is playing loud, ambient, jazz.  It sounds almost like trip-hop. It's been produced in the late 90's, I can tell that already.
People only speak when spoken to.
I saw one person share an umbrella out of kindness. Everyone else is just thinking about themselves.
Even though the rain is drawing all of us the same place of cover, nobody ventures out of solitude to connect with someone.  We're all unreachable in our own realms.  It takes a marked invasion of our personal space for any sort of communication to occur. I think elevators are livelier than this courtyard.