Occasionally an elderly man dressed in Middle Eastern garb, who walks with the aid of a cane, stops by the floating bookshop and asks if I have any Islamic books. I always say: "No, sorry." I have trouble understanding a lot of what he's saying. He is always pleasant. Today he purchased a book on prayer. Shokron, sir.
Although the session was curtailed by rain, it was rewarding. As I was setting up, the Merry Mailwoman noticed that I was fully stocked and was unable to resist passing on the mysteries Joanne donated. She bought three. Later, a woman who has passed many times without a word asked the price of Kevin Trudeau's best-selling The Weight Loss Cure. Trudeau has been sued by the Federal Trade Commission for fraudulent claims and has paid as much as 37 million in reparations. I charged a dollar. Good luck, ma'am.
A few weeks ago a middle aged woman bought a couple of self-help books. She returned today and was intrigued by David Lynch's Blue Velvet on VHS. I explained that it was vile, vulgar and great, a film that improves at each viewing, once the shock has diminished. "Will it give me nightmares?" she asked. All I could say was that no movie had ever given me nightmares. "Me, neither," she said, but passed on it anyway, a mistake. It is bizarre genius.
I met Sal Buttaci through All Things That Matter Press, where he has had two volumes of Flash Fiction (stories less than a thousand words) published: Flashing My Shorts and 200 Shorts. He also has volumes of poetry in print. Although we've never met in the flesh, we communicate regularly via email and on Facebook, where he posts old pictures of his Italian-American upbringing I really relate to. He was born in Brooklyn, grew up in Jersey and now lives in West Virginia. He was kind enough to promote Killing in his latest blog. Read it here:
http://sbuttaci.blogspot.com/2011/12/author-worth-reading-vic-fortezza.html?spref=fb
Grazie, amico mei.
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