Bobbi was stumped. She had locked the doors to the Providence Athenaeum hours ago and resolved to spend the rest of the night working on her novel. The old books and architecture usually gave her ideas, but not today. The only words she managed to type were, "Svetlana sighed in despair. How could she ever do this? Dimitri was so difficult!"

     A Brown University English major, Bobbi struggled to balance a job at the Athenaeum with her schoolwork, often staying after-hours to work on her novel, an obtuse sixteen-hundred-page historical fiction about the Russian Revolution. Dimitri, one of the main characters in Bobbi's book, was convinced his new comrade, Svetlana, was actually her own evil twin, and Svetlana's very life depended on her proving otherwise. Bobbi had no idea how to word this effectively. She knew that when she believed in something strongly, it was hard for someone to convince her otherwise--so how would Svetlana? She found it challenging to write when she couldn't relate to her characters.

     But Dimitri and Svetlana had to wait—it was getting late! Well past midnight, Bobbi finally nodded off. She awoke to angry voices but kept her head on the desk. Ugh. Too tired for another day of stress… wait… I'm not at home! Who opened the library?

     "Bruh! I toldja! You're trash! My bottle flips are way lit!" said one voice.

     "Oh. Em. Gee, sis! I literally, like, only failed 'cause you, like, jostled the table!" replied another shrill voice.

     "'Cause I'm savage, bro!"

     "Well, if you're so, like... what do you say? 'Beast?' If you're so beast, like, lead on, MacDuff!"

     Bobbi couldn't help herself. She pushed her chair out with a squeal and stomped to the disgraceful offenders.

     "It's lay on! You frickin' idiots! Haven't you ever read Shakespeare?" To Bobbi's surprise, there was nobody there, except for a couple of bronze busts—one of Shakespeare and another of H.P. Lovecraft.

     "Of course I have, breh! I am Shakespeare!"

     Bobbi spun, but no one was there.

     "Over here, frickin' idiot," said the bust of Shakespeare.

     "Oh, my gosh. William Frickin' Shakespeare?"

     "Bill, bruh! Call me Bill."

     "Why are you speaking like that? Aren't you supposed to be articulate? And Elizabethan?" Bobbi asked, more confused about his slang than the fact that the bust of Shakespeare was actually speaking.

     "Isn't this how modern peeps talk? Been listening, brah!" Shakespeare replied.

     Bobbi growled.

     The bust of Lovecraft must have been the one who failed bottle flipping because it was rolling its eyes.

     Bobbi was struck with the realization that the two busts were bottle flipping with no arms, not to mention no life.

     "Guys! How can you bottle flip without arms? And that's pretty 2016 for 'modern peeps' like you."

     Lovecraft turned to Bobbi. "'Guys.' That's, like, a new one! Also, check out this coolness, guuuuuuuys!" he drawled. He clamped his teeth over the neck of the bottle and sharply snapped his jaw, sending the bottle flying. "Ugh, like, not another one! Can you go grab that? Sorry, I'm just so, like, extra today, I swear!"

     Wait a minute... They are both illustrious writers! Bobbi thought. There was no way I’m competent enough to work out Svetlana's explanation by myself... but maybe I don’t have to.

     "Swearing is bad," she said. "Also, since you're here, why don't we talk literature?"

     Shakespeare nodded. "Sure, broski!" He turned to Lovecraft. "Hey, why you so racist, bruh? I bet this chick don't dig you!"

     "You're one to talk! Taming of the Shrew, you sexist pig?"

     The two promptly started squabbling about who was a worse person.

     "Since you guys are both famous authors," Bobbi interjected, "could you give me some tips for my st--?"

     Lovecraft interrupted, "You obviously need, like, a sea monster!"

     Shakespeare retorted, "Balderdash! A king goes nutso—now that's a story!"

     The two bickered about who was the better author, ultimately deciding to settle it with another bottle flipping competition.

     Wow... some people, or... I guess, busts? Bobbi had to get away—these two and their atrocious slang were driving her mad! She used her extensive, yet annoyingly useless, knowledge of literature to shake off Shakespeare and lose Lovecraft.

     "Look, look! A mouse!" Bobbi quoted Mad King Lear.

     "Peace, peace! This piece of tasty cheese will do it," Shakespeare misquoted himself.

     "Toasted!" Bobbi corrected.

     It was then, escaping two legendary buffoons, their own words lost in translation, that Bobbi had a "lightbulb moment." Svetlana would soon discover the reason behind Dimitri's insane belief: Svetlana's Northern Russian slang did not translate well into Dimitri's Central Russian dialect, and her attempt at communicating in his language made her sound like her twin who studied in Moscow. The plot twist finally made sense! Bobbi had it in her the whole time, and she didn't need Lovecraft's sea monster or Shakespeare's crazy king!

     She returned to her desk and fell asleep once more, eager to pick up the ol' laptop the next morning and dive back into the world of Svetlana and Dimitri.

     What an absurd dream, she thought when she awoke a short while later, still feeling confident in her work. As she left the library, the first pale tendrils of light straining through the crusty skylight, she glanced back at the bust of Shakespeare.

     It winked.