This observation was brought delightfully home to me a few months ago, when I dropped a small pile of books on the checkout desk at my neighborhood public library. (firstthings.com)
Later, when I was at the checkout desk scheduling my next appointment, I felt a tiny presence beside me. (littleheartsbooks.com)
The place was safe, it was cool (in the days before air - conditioning, we had only swamp coolers), and, with its gruff librarians posted like marines between Adult Fiction and the checkout desk, it offered a semblance of day - care - cum - self - improvement. (bookbrowse.com)