Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 8/12

I decided I needed a change of pace today - and it is exactly what I got - slower. I set up shop at the Sheepshead Bay Promenade, about a hundred feet from where my father, a fisherman in summertime, used to moor his boat. By the time an hour had passed I was kicking myself. It was lonely out there, unlike at my usual spot where many wish me well or stop to chat or donate books. I missed that. At least it was a gorgeous day. I spent nearly the entire time under a tree. Hardly anyone stopped. My only potential customer had nothing smaller than a fifty, which I couldn't change. It was the first time I didn't earn any money in a long while. The lone highlight was watching a grandpa tightrope along the edge of the stone barrier that encloses the bay, scooping crabs out of the water with a net attached to a long poll. His wife and four grandkids, three girls and a boy, trailed along on the sidewalk, fascinated by his prowess. The eldest girl was in charge of the bucket, which was half full. Are the crabs safe to eat? Who knows? The water is infinitely cleaner than 50 years ago when it had a greenish tint that reminded me of a laundry product named Jevelle. Boats may no longer be docked in the lower bay, below the pedestrian bridge that spans it and leads to the ritzy Manhattan Beach section. Occasionally, jet-skiers buzz through, but I don't imagine they leave much fuel behind. Oddly, no one swims in the bay any more. It was common in the '50's and '60's, despite the pollution. Young men would dive from the bridge in pursuit of coins thrown by passersby. Crossing, one had to be wary of getting gouged with a hook from a fisherman casting into the bay. No one fishes from the bridge these days. I wonder if it has been banned. I used the setting for two of my short stories: Rude Awakening and Mystery by the Bay. The area will always mean a lot to me. My mother and me frequently rode the bus there to greet my father. I can still remember how excited I'd get when I'd spot him in the distance at the helm of his little boat, and how disappointed when the inevitable arguments occurred. Boy, that was a long time ago.
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