Whitman Library is a dimly-lit den of stress and dark wood. There’s a palpable tension in the air, the bleary-eyed malaise of people on their academic grind. Now, right in the thick of thesis season, both occupancy and tension are pretty high. And when it’s crunch time I guess you have to claim your territory. I guess you become a hermit in this sad, sad place.
Some of them stake out their domain by cementing it over with impenetrable stacks of books.
Others have more brutish methods.