Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/7

I'm bummed and pissed at once. My PC has been hacked. It's now part of a network of 24 other users. Its performance has slowed to a crawl. I've gone from broadband to worse than dial-up. I think I know how they got in, too. I left the Live 365 and Martini in the Morning music streams open while I showered. It's nobody's fault but mine. These folks are diabolically clever. I've tried Recovery, Disconnect and a Re-install, and they all got nowhere. I visited forums and none of the experts seems to have a clue, which, I assume, is because they haven't caught up to the problems of the phenomenon of WiFi. Even in basic HTML mode my email is painfully slow. I am unable to do surveys, as the pages time-out repeatedly, which is infuriating, as that's how I earn money to buy copies of my books. I've run three scans, and no spy or malware has been found. Either a new version has been invented or the slow down is caused by all that traffic. And I wonder if they're after me financially. Are they following me around the net waiting for me to use my credit card or my Social Security number? This is a prime example of why I refuse to bank online, despite the convenience of it. Argh!!!!!!
Given my state of mind, I almost lost it when Political Man visited the floating bookshop and immediately began assailing Conservatives for their backwardness. He spends $500 a month on pot and still expects taxpayers to pick up the tab for his Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security, despite the fact that his boyfriend is well to do. Today I learned that he had been the beneficiary of an annuity left him by his mother, which he also kept in his boyfriend's name so that he would remain eligible for government programs. "Everyone tries to get over, even illegal aliens," he said. "Why shouldn't a real American like me?" And here I am worrying that I will be doing the wrong thing come July 25th, the date I will receive my first Social Security check, even though I paid into the system for 39 years. Argh!!!!
Mr. Almost stopped by, which gave me an opportunity to ask him about some of the Russian books I had on display. One cover featured two males fishing in a river, the water up to their knees. It was a translation of Huck Finn. I immediately wondered how the writer tackled Jim's dialogue, which Mark Twain did in the vernacular of a slave, and which inspired me to go all out in the Brooklynese of the early drafts of Killing. "You have to learn Russian," Mr. Almost told me. I laughed. Minutes later a gentleman who wheels his one-year-old daughter by every day stopped and bought the book. The kid looks just like him. Spasibo, sir, and to the two other kind people who purchased books today.
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