Since the weather was not conducive to selling books on the street, I had a brainstorm on how to make up the lost revenue. A handicapped friend I accompany on her visits to doctors lost her car to the floods of Hurricane Sandy. She had yet to turn in her license plates and asked if I'd drive her to an agency that handles such matters for people who would rather not endure the hassle of the Department of Motor Vehicles. I told her I'd do it for half of whatever the guy charged, saving her money and a trip out into the foul weather. It'd been at least seven years since I'd been to the DMV in Coney Island. I've done all transactions since then on my PC. It's about a half-hour walk from our building. On the way I passed a McDonalds that is closed due to storm damage. Uh-oh, I thought. Sure enough, the DMV is closed until further notice. It's only a few blocks from the ocean. I walked to the nearby station and boarded a Q train to downtown Brooklyn. For many years, before I moved to Sheepshead Bay, I used the DMV on Schemerhorn Street, pronounced Skimmer.... It was a bureaucratic nightmare out of a Franz Kafka novel. Fortunately, the system has been improved through the years, so I wasn't intimidated. I was happy to have something to do. 30 minutes later, when the train pulled into DeKalb Avenue, something possessed me to go out the back way. I guess I was hoping I'd luck into a shortcut. Dumb move. I didn't recognize a thing. I started walking along Willoughby Street, thinking of The Twilight Zone episode where the protagonist's commuter train takes him into the past, a simpler time: "Willoughby, next stop Willoughby." Along the way, I asked a hardhat, security guard and Fedex guy if they knew where the place was, without luck. Finally, I approached a government services building, where a woman was outside on a smoke break. "It's on the other side of the mall," she said, pointing. Had it been moved from Schemerhorn? Indeed it had. It is right across the street from the new Barclay Center arena, where the Nets play. In fact, there is a second floor tunnel that connects the buildings. On my first look at it in person, I was unimpressed. Its design seems to be that of a huge ocean liner, perhaps Noah's Ark. The thousands of brown, decorative designer plates on its sides seem rusted. Maybe it will look better to me in the future, as things tend to do once one gets used to them. Anyway, I was in the DMV for no more than a half hour. My friend had given me several pages of documentation. I am anal. She is super anal. The clerk wanted nothing but the plates. I picked up the forms she will need once she has her next car, and I was on my way. I earned more than I likely would have on the street, although I hate not being out there, as this might have been a day when someone was interested in one of my books. Maybe tomorrow. Later, during my nap, I dreamed of a station named Biffen Avenue. There is none in NYC. Nor is there a Biffen Street. I wonder what that was all about.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
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