Hard to say what they are, though their substantiality suggests dictionaries, or law books, or indices of some kind, registries, perhaps. In the past, four or five have been wet. They have been used — three have slips marking pages that some unknown reader wanted to find again. They are not new books, certainly older than the contemporary urban text of the tag on the window. There was little to indicate that the glass fronted an ongoing concern; whatever occupied these offices looked past its expiration date. But knowledge resides on this sill, silent, enduring, durable, as resilient as the bricks and stone around it. Books last.