Moving my finger along the row of books, I look like a normal student, searching for that pivotal title that is about to transform my research paper. But I’m not. I’m undercover; in fact, I’m not even looking at the titles.

My eyes glance along the call numbers, searching for that inevitable culprit – the misfiled book. Sometimes I come across a lone holdout, sandwiched in between two books that aren’t used to being so cozy with it. Sometimes I come across a whole enclave of bandits, and guns blazing remove them from the shelf.

The end result is what’s beautiful to me. An ordered row, spines brought crisply to the edge of a shelf and the rebellion put down. All is in order.

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