I pop into the Westfield branch library most Mondays around 5 for returns and a quiet table before dinner. Today the parking lot was crammed with black sedans, and inside the lobby there were two rolling racks of suits, name badges, and a podium pushed against the book sale shelf. A stack of navy-and-white yard signs—faces covered in blue painter’s tape—leaned by the community room door.
At first I figured it was another HOA budget meeting, but then I noticed a guy in a bright red tie chatting with a woman in a cobalt blazer under the humming fluorescent lights. Someone was wheeling in a big metal coffee urn, and the children’s librarian had taped construction paper over the fish tank to cut glare. I asked the front desk if the room was booked—got a tight smile and “it’s a public forum.” Felt tense, like Thanksgiving politics, but with more folding chairs…