I spend anywhere from three to eight hours every week sweating along with a motley crew of local misfits, shelving, sorting, and hauling ton after ton of written matter in a rowhouse basement in Baltimore. We have no heat nor air conditioning, but still, every week, we come and work. Volunteer night is Wednesday, but many of us also work on the weekends, when we're open to the public. There are times when we're freezing and we have to wear coats and gloves inside, making handling books somewhat tricky; other times, we're all soaked with sweat, since it's 90 degrees out and the basement is thick with bodies. One learns to forget about personal space when working at The Book Thing, since you can scarcely breathe without bumping into someone, and we are all so accustomed to having to scrape by each other that most of us no longer bother to say "excuse me" unless some particularly dramatic brushing occurs.