Everything fell into place today. The rain held off, then I found a parking spot right under the tree at Bay Parkway and 85th Street. I was able to display the maximum number of titles. Of course, none of that matters if the public isn't interested. That worry was vanquished immediately by the lovely, sweet Irina, who bought A Hitch in Twilight. What a doll. Some guy is going to be awfully lucky. I hope he appreciates it. Spasiba, mademoiselle.
Next up was a middle age woman who has organized a lending library in her building. She purchased hardcover copies of Tami Hoag's Dark Horse and Jonathan Kellerman's Mystery. She said her daughter wouldn't touch any book that wasn't purchased new, afraid of who might have handled them. Maybe that explains the dearth of sales on the street. I mean, I carry the work of the most popular authors, almost all the books are in excellent condition, and I all but give them away.
Bad News Billy showed. He is behind on his rent. Of course, that didn't stop him from buying a collector's guide for his brother and a High School Musical novelette for his grand-daughter. I offered them to him gratis, but he wouldn't hear of it.
I hadn't seen Neil in a long time. A few years ago he interviewed me on the street for his wacky cable access show, DellaPeppo Village. He gave me a CD of his own music. I listened to some of it on the drive home. One song sounded like a natural for a Country artist. It's main lyric was: "You like to do it in the morning, I like to do it at night." Another track reminded me of Lenny Kravitz's "Are You Gonna Go My Way?" Good luck, Neil.
The day was capped when a Russian gentleman asked if I had any books on art. As a matter of fact, among Omar the Friendly Porter's latest donation, there was one on perspective. When I told him it was a dollar, he seemed about to burst into laughter, as if I were so silly. I couldn't argue with him. There are days I stand out there feeling like a fool. Fortunately, today wasn't one of them thanks to these kind folks, especially Irina.
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