Small town libraries share something with the other transitional spaces I photograph. Even when vacant, they feel inhabited. Chairs pulled from tables, books returned to shelves, handwritten notices, worn floors, even a randomly underlined word in a book or a dog-eared page. The accumulated choices of generations of readers give these rooms a distinctly human presence. We come to libraries for something different. We enter looking for knowledge, curiosity, escape, or simply a quiet place to be. The objects surrounding us contain the thoughts and experiences of people we will never meet. I’m drawn to the quiet intimacy of these spaces, rooms where we can be alone while surrounded by the presence of others.