I like taking BART this early, it’s quiet, there’s barely any people and when you take the train this early, it’s probably the cleanest it’ll be for the rest of the day. Due to the rain, the sky was still dark and overcast, the heavy downpour almost making the windows look frosted as BART flew across the small inlet of the bay to where the Berkely campus was. I smiled softly as I let my feet softly swing under the bench before it pulled into the campus station. I stepped off the train alone as usual when I get here an hour before the earliest courses, though the library is already open at seven in the morning and it’s a nice area to get out of the rain, but still enjoy it at the same time.

              The way the rain puddled alongside the sidewalks made the quad and grassier areas a thick soup of stirred up top soil and looser grass blades and whatever leaves or flower petals had collected there, a thin layer of morning mist was still clinging to the sidewalk, maybe at ankle height or so sense there was no sunlight to bake it away and the cooler weather mixed with the sea breeze and the rainy weather making it stay a while. It was perfect weather to me at least.

              The lights of the mess hall were on as there is a fairly early breakfast run of the cafeteria, but the idea of eating this early made me sick to my stomach, so I just dipped into the library as I usually do every early morning. I paused under the front awning to shake off as much of the rain from my umbrella as I could before I walked into the building. I got as much rain and mud off my boots on the welcome mat before walking out onto the tile and carpet of the library.

              “Morning, Hercule” the librarian called out with a wave which I returned as I walked over to the desk and just handed over the books, I had checked out last, it’s too early for me to feel alright with using the return slot, plus I don’t know how much rain got into it. “Already done with these?” she asked

              “You know me, I read very quickly” I laughed

              “If only some of the other students cared about the state, they return books in as much as you” they bemused which I nodded at.

              “From what I’ve seen with some copies, I agree”

              “Well, all of your professors are lucky to have you as a student” they added with a kind smile.

              “Thank you. Have a nice day”

              “I’ll try with this rain, hopefully it doesn’t hang around all day” they added looking towards the large widows.

              “We’ll see” I said before walking off and up the stairs to the section of the library that has all of the usual books, I read along with the ones that go along with my major.

              Hercule: I know it’s not a common name, but my parents are both avid readers and wanted to give me a name that showed that and was of a figure who was impressive to, I don’t know, give me an inspiration or give me some meaning to my name or something. Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective created by Agatha Christie, appeared in something like thirty novels, multiple plays and who knows how many short stories. Christie herself was inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle’s writing about Sherlock Holmes for writing Hercule along with various other detectives throughout literature, but she took him through dozens of stories, most notable being Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile, both very good movies as well as stories, both the originals and the more recent remakes stay fairly true to the sources. However, as I got older and read more of her writings about the rather…eccentric detective, I also read about how as she wrote increasingly about him, she herself grew tired of the character and grew to hate the character as well because of his mannerisms and the methods he used. That was not to comforting in terms of being named after him, being hated by the writer, but nevertheless there was things about him that were commendable and proved a good source of inspiration for myself in doing certain things; I don’t like the possibility of leaving something overlooked or missing something, even if it’s something that by all accounts would be meaningless or even counterintuitive to look into, you never know when that minute detail is what you actually needed. Can’t tell you how many test questions I found the answer for purely by reading a passage as deeply as I could, taking a fine-tooth comb through it multiple times and left no letter unread.

              I found my usual spot on the second floor in the back right corner, when there’s no rain, the sunlight that comes through is just perfect reading light, but there was also a light in the ceiling at just the right angle to give it just as good of light. It was furthest from the study rooms that eventually become filled with people using the partially sound-proofed rooms as a way to have private conversations of at least a dozen or so people that even with the sound-proofing, you could hear that they had hooked up some sort of video game console to the TV in the room and were getting heated about whom was losing or winning. I set my bag down as I walked through the rows of the books, letting my fingertips softly and slowly slip along the dark wooden and steel shelves as I read the tiles on the spines before I slid a book out and flicked through a few pages before tucking it into my arm and looked around the shelves for a second book to pick out.

              I eventually was able to hear the tell-tale sounds of others coming into the library, some for a morning cram session or wanting to get a moment out of the weather or using the library as a gathering spot to sneak in a bit of fun before they go into their first final of the day. The latter of the people are the ones I cannot stand being in the library: I like the quietness of being alone, if people are respectful and honorable of the library environment I’m fine, but the people who have full volume conversations about the rather echo-y library despite being shushed and told not to…those are the ones who make my skin crawl.