Personal Narrative: Why I Hate This Summer

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I hate summer. I hate the disgusting wet heat that lingers the whole day and night. I hate that you can’t be anywhere near anyone without sticking to them. I hate that every summer I find new places I did not know I could sweat from. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. But . . . . . . This summer was different. It snowed the whole year, even in summer, which are unbearable here, not once did the sun come out. The people were nervous and anxious and a bit scared as to what that meant, I was relieved. I loved the cold and it didn’t bother me that every single day I had to clear the drive in to my house. It was the middle of July and I was volunteering at the library, like I usually do in the summers, to help out Mrs. McChantire, the librarian. I worked all day inside our small local library in the small back room in our small town. Most days I worked in the back taking inventory and re-entering book codes into the computer after you turn them in. But today I had to work re-shelving books. I didn’t enjoy it much because it meant I had to interact some what with people that I come across with in the isles. It was raining hard outside and the library was pretty cozy. Most of the people that were in here were old and …show more content…

She closed her eyes, for a second I thought she was going to start crying. I didn’t realize it, but I was subconsciously pushing against the books on the shelves. So when some of them fell over, her eyes flew open and they both ran to my isle. Shit. I quickly knelt on the ground and pretended that I had just dropped them, which I did, but I didn’t want them to figure out the how. I cursed under my breath, and fumbled with the pile of books. Immediately she dropped down and helped me pick them up. Surprisingly she smelled like fresh mint and coffee. I stood up at the same time she did. “Here you go.” She smiled, and I almost dropped the books again. Shit, shit,

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