There was no action on book front today, but plenty otherwise. Monica's Pharmacy, Anteka to use the Russian term, just 100 feet from where I usually set up shop, was raided by agents of OIG, Office of Inspector General, which combats fraud. The shop was closed for a while as loads of paperwork were carried and carted to two vans. As soon as the authorities left, it was business as usual. Arlynn buys her meds there. Of course, if they're guilty, they should be shut down.
A bit later two of the local drinking crew took a seat on the ledge that guards the narrow garden that spans the apartment building directly in front of me. It rises only a foot and a half from the ground. I often sit on it myself to rest my legs. Anyway, the boys pulled a bottle of wine from a paper bag and were miffed that there was a cork in it. Expletives flew. One had a screwdriver in his bag of tricks. For the next 15 minutes they got nowhere, until one spotted half a cinder block in the small courtyard between the building and Monica's. They used it as a hammer, and it did the trick. They knocked the cork into the bottle and proceeded to chug away. Soon one of them noticed the authentic Coast Guard hat I was wearing, which Arlynn's son Jaime had given me as thanks for accompanying his mom to her radiation treatments. He identified himself as former 11 Bravo, an infantryman, and held out his hand for a fist bump. I obliged. I was relieved when the bottle was drained and they went on their way.
It looked like it was going to be a very disappointing day until Kofi showed up at about three. He purchased both the Ultimate Sinatra and Ultimate Jazz Cds I'd recently burned. Thanks, sir. I will burn replacements before I log off for the night.
Speaking of music, Waj pulled up to the gyro stand in his SUV, delivering supplies, which, since his promotion, is his new job. When he opened the hatch, Middle Eastern music blasted into the street. It sounded good and was certainly an improvement from the time he unleashed x-rated hip hop on the area.
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