Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/4 - Tears

Here's another money-making idea that will have most people wondering: Why didn't I think of that? Hoxton Street Monster Supplies, a cheeky store affiliated with the Ministry of Stories in the UK, has launched its newest product: salt made from human tears. According to the Monster Supplies website, the product "combines centuries-old craft with the freshest human tears, which are gently boiled, released into shallow crystallization tanks, then harvested by hand and finally rinsed in brine." The flavors/emotions include: Salt Made From Tears of Anger, Salt Made From Tears Shed While Chopping Onions, Salt Made From Tears Shed While Sneezing, Salt Made From Tears of Laughter, Salt Made From Tears of Sorrow. Expert tear harvester Halen Mon produced the salt with the help of Studio Weave. Is the product really made from actual tears? Know this - Halen Mon specializes in sea salt. The novelty salts are available for purchase online, but human tears don't come cheap. They range from $11 to $47. A portion of the sales supports the Ministry of Stories children's writing center. The satirical monster supply store, which makes fake products and sells them for charity, has many other options available beyond salt. I wonder if they can do anything with snot or phlegm.

After an off-season chock full of bad news, the Mets had an unbelievable weekend: Johan Santana's no-hitter, Johnny Franco's induction into the team's Hall of Fame, and three straight wins vs. the world champion Cardinals, vaulting them into a first place tie in the division. And now they've thrown all the positives away, announcing that Bill Maher (tears of a clown?) has become a part owner of the franchise. To me, this is as bad as when the team acquired slugging first baseman Carlos Delgado, who refused to stand for the National Anthem as a member of the Toronto Blue Jays. By the way, they lost today. Ugh!

Since it was raining, I went to Plan B: Russian books only at the viaduct on Avenue Z & East 15th. Fortunately, the rain stopped after a lonely hour-and-a-half, and I returned to my usual nook. By then, it seemed I'd missed any of my regulars. Then an old-timer who'd purchased a bunch of books last month appeared. He'd asked if I sold any music. I told him I sometimes burned best of Sinatra and Jazz CDs. I'd kept them in my glove compartment since then. We walked to my car, which was on the corner of East 13th, and I popped the discs into the player to show him the quality. He purchased them and five books. Dumb luck is the best luck of all (tears of joy). Thank you, sir.
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