By AMYE DAY ONG 

I spend an hour opening envelopes every day in the basement of the American Library Association.  Past the freight elevator and the official mailroom with its mechanized sorting machines is a room that looks like a cage because of the metal fencing that covers its entrance from floor to ceiling.  A door is built into the fencing and a paper sign reading “Do Not Close” has been affixed, tape looped through the wires so that it adheres to the back of the paper.  This long narrow room is divided lengthwise down the middle by metal shelving containing what appears to be every archived publication the Association has ever produced.  I do my work in the back corner at two tables covered in razor marks.