It was a fun day at the floating bookshop. Antonin, aka Mr. Su Do Ku for his book on the subject, was the first to visit. His head shaved, he looked like famous wrestler George the Animal Steele, who was a teacher and long-time football coach in Michigan in his alternate universe. I could barely withhold laughter. I had to avoid looking at him directly, waiting for him to say: "Hey!" He whipped out his smart phone and showed me video he'd shot the day before in Times Square of an artist doing a painting on the street. Then he showed a picture of a coffin. A friend of his died, which reminded him he too would die. He's about 75. I probably said the wrong thing: "It's one of life's sad truths - anyone can and will be replaced." Despite the faux pas, he smiled and shook my hand before leaving.
Young Sue was my first customer. She looked at A Hitch in Twilight a long time, but passed. She was ashamed to admit she isn't a reader, having read less than three books her entire life. She did choose a book on coping with divorce. She is one of its victims, as are 50% of the population.
Marie has donated about 80 CDs, which she'd secured when a friend's blues bar closed down. The most recent batch of ten, which included REM, Loverboy, Jeff Healy, Paul Butterfield and an early MTV compilation, went fast. Will, a local security guard, bought eight himself. I suspected he would.
Then Cabbie showed, parking his hack beside Waj's gyro stand. He took three thrillers and gave me his usual spiel about wasting my life, wondering how much gelt I actually make. He simply does not understand how or why anyone would adopt the artist's life - and who could blame him? It's a mild form of insanity, as Bob Rubenstein pointed out when he visited bearing fruit he'd just purchased. He shared watermelon, strawberries and pineapple, pre-cut and put on ice in plastic containers. It was nice and cold. Tomorrow he is off on another long train ride to New Mexico, with a stop in Chicago to meet a friend and hopefully visit some of the sites he mentions in his second novel, The White Bridge, for which he did extensive research. As we were conversing, seated on the ledge that surrounds the apartment building's garden, two women stopped and looked at my display. One bought a pristine hardcover edition of Nora Roberts' Birthright, the other three children's books, including a Judy Moody, for her healthy blue-eyed blond boys.
After Bob left, Esther approached. I didn't want to be cold, so I asked how things were going with her 32-year-old son, who owes her a lot of money and hasn't spoken to her in a long time. She went on for an hour. Her brother, Henry, also owes her a lot of dough. The guy offered to repay in installments and she refused, afraid she would lose track of the sums. I tried to explain that he might never be able to repay all at once and that she would probably recoup nothing if she didn't compromise. I think she understood, but I'm not sure. Fortunately, it was soon three o'clock, time to pack up. She might have gone on for another hour.
Thanks, folks.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
No comments:
Post a Comment