It was awful lonely at the floating bookshop for the first two hours today. No one stopped by. I saw none of my regulars. I thought it was going to be one of those days. Fortunately, a nice young couple happened to spot the children's books I had on display and bought four. I'd sold the man Louis Gelormino's autobiographical The Gent's Prayer a few weeks ago, which he is enjoying. I told him how disappointed I was that the email address and guest book at the accompanying website are not functioning. I wanted to congratulate Gelormino on a life well-lived. All my efforts to track him down on the web have failed. I hope he shows up one day so I can tell him in person. I haven't seen the gregarious Carmine in a while. My instincts tell me Carmine and Louis are friends. They are of a similar age.
A while later there occurred one of those inevitable amusing incidents that are bound to crop up while spending so much time on the street. I spotted a guy about to feed the meter and called out to him that it was Sunday. I love denying the city money it does not deserve. I wonder how much it accumulates this way. Anyway, the guy was so pleased he gave me a dollar. I would have been happier if he'd taken a book. I'm not looking for nor do I need charity, but I've learned that it is a mistake to argue about such things.
A middle aged couple capped the activities by buying thrillers by Dean Koontz and James Patterson. I didn't know if I should inform them that the Patterson book was co-written, which, I suspect, means Patterson did not write any of it. I've informed customers of that in the past. I guess I was a little too eager for the sale. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned....
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