/lit/ - Literature

I work for a library and it is very depressing, and often suicide appears to be more attractive than working in this job. One might imagine that working in a library entails having a quiet, spacious office in which to organize the library's inner layout, making sure books are ordered and delivered on a timely basis, overseeing new technology being implemented and so forth. I am 40 years old. For thirteen years now I have stood and sat at the front desk of a large urban library whose most loyal denizens are the homeless and the clinically insane. Schizophrenics are drawn here like moths to a flame. Alcoholics come here to snooze and disrupt. N*ggers crowd the aisles and spread their toxic subhuman behaviour. I thought I would be advising enthusiastic kids what to read next, or helping elderly peasants become introduced to the world of literature in order to enjoy their final years thanks to the offerings of high culture. Instead I stand silently and alone as my miserable colleagues discuss their boring husbands or browse facebook or holidays websites to look out for the cheapest package deals. I am forced to replace urine-stained seat cushions. Forced to "kindly" "usher" out the bums who vomit on themselves and the constantly wide-eyed middle-aged women who start to scream and talk gibberish at a rapid pace if I approach them and tell them we are closing up. What a pathetic life I lead. I imagined I would be like Larkin, like Borges, like the kind of refined, reserved kind of man whose job allows him an air of mystique and glum erudition. Instead I am no better than a janitor who has found himself at the till of a supermarket. In 2008 I had a brief sexual affair with a student girl who spent a month here as part of her training to become a library assistant. We screwed in the storage room several times a day. It was purely physical on her part but deeply emotional on mine. Eventually she realized she didn't want this kind of job and admitted she felt sorry for me and thought fucking me would make me less depressed and her less experienced. She is now working for a marketing company and is earning more than me despite being a member of a different generation. Please kill me. Please. Please. Please God let this be the day I am struck by a truck on my lonesome drive home. Let this be the night the n*ggers break into my home and garrote me as I lay sleepless staring silently toward the ceiling.

>>12325166
Often times you can use ss or ß, so he probably meant the usage, for example, you can write dass or daß, but today most people use dass

What are some good stories about broken women?

Ideally dark and set in the last 100 years up till today.