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One day at the local library, you're walking out from your usual corner near closing time with an armful of your favorite books, when you hear a particularly out-of-place low rumbling sound. It almost sounds like the groan of heavy machinery, and you cast around, certain you're still in fact in a library and not an machine shop.

It sounds again, from a remote alcove, and you head over, curiosity piqued. But there's nothing -- only shelves upon shelves of books, the same as elsewhere in the library.

You're turning to leave when some semi-circular marks in the carpet, under a slightly crooked shelf, catch your eye. The speakers chime out again -- five minutes to closing, but your interest exceeds your inclination to check out your books, and you walk closer, tucking your books under one arm and putting the other hand on the shelf. You pull back on it a little, and to your surprise, it swings out a couple inches, far too much for a bookshelf that heavy. It's almost as if it has... wheels?

You glance around, and, seeing no one else in the vicinity, pull harder, and this time, the shelf swivels towards you along the carpet marks. There's an opening just wide enough for you to slip in, and you do, stepping into a dim room that smells very slightly of machinery grease and iron, though someone has made an effort to mask the shop odors with lavender and lemon verbena.

To your left, you can barely make out a rusted forklift and several large boxes; to your right, you see more boxes and chairs, draped over with blankets and bedsheets, and lit from within. Shifting the books under your arm, you inch closer, and realize you're looking at a sprawling blanket fort, lit from within, surrounded by books, magazines, and pillows.

A lone occupant glances over at you, lit with bright shifting lights from a TV somewhere within the fort.

"You should check those books out first, and then join me for... tea? Coffee? Everyone's welcome here."

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