Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 10/23

My niece Luci visited the floating bookshop on her way to mass at St. Mary's. Just as she arrived two guys began cursing each other from their cars as they waited under the ell for the light to change. One got out and approached the other, tire iron in hand. Fortunately, it didn't escalate beyond words. Luci came up with the line of the day, saying: "They're probably on their way to church."
A while later my friend Andrew came down from his office in the Dolphin Fitness Center, which he owns. The place is doing well, despite the economy. His venue about two miles further up 86th Street is on life support, although the landlord is begging him to stay, lowering the rent from ten to five thousand. He is paying $20,000 at the 24th Avenue venue and making back three times as much. He deserves it. He is as hard a worker as there is. He had splotches of paint on his massive arms. "He's got all those workers to do it and he never stops," said Vinny, the owner of the property, stopping by later. That's the way Andy was on the football field when I had the privilege of coaching him. His class reunion is in early November.
Actor-singer extraordinaire Johnny Feets also visited, bearing a gift - a copy of The Tablet, a Catholic newspaper distributed free these days. I remember students standing outside the church long ago, chanting their sales' pitch: "Tablet - ten cents a copy - Tablet." Feets observed his first mass ever at St. Mary's. He grew up in upstate New York. He hasn't had much luck on the acting front lately, but he's been getting enough work modeling for art students to pay his bills.
This morning my buddy Bags sent me a proof of the back cover for Killing. I won't post it on Kindle until I take a last look at the file, which I will do once I finish the third round of editing Bob Rubenstein's The White Bridge. Some days it beats me to a pulp similar to what one of his characters, legendary Jewish champion boxer Barney Ross, does/did to many opponents. Oy!
Thanks to the kind ladies who purchased thrillers by Lee Child and Lisa Jackson, and to my man Feets, who bought Leon Uris' epic Irish novel, Trinity. He is half blarney.
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