Another day, another disaster for the NYC transit system. A train derailed in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, just one stop away from our neighborhood. A fleet of ambulances and maintenance trucks was lined up along Sheepshead Bay Road and into Avenue Z, curbside where I set up the floating book shop. Fortunately, there was only one minor injury. Unfortunately, service was disrupted. Packed shuttle buses transported commuters from the stations that had been shut down to the one that services our stretch. Access to Coney Island was unavailable on the D/Q line.
A stiff breeze made conditions a lot more tolerable than yesterday. Several people noted how different it felt passing under the scaffold than in the sun. My thanks to the sweet middle age woman returning from her daily shopping, who purchased Eat More, Weigh Less: Dr. Dean Ornish's Program for Losing Weight Safely While Eating Abundantly by Dean Ornish, and Eat Great, Lose Weight: Eat All the Foods You Love by Suzanne Somers. I sense a theme there. Thanks also to Ira, who bought two more Hollywood bios, Fred Astaire and Vivien Leigh. He must have the history of just about every star from the Golden Age in his library by now. My thanks also to the gentleman who bought a book on Judaism. He's the first person from Tajikistan I've ever met. He's trying to make it in real estate. The only fiction sale of the session went to a middle age woman who showed me what she's reading, one of those historical novels on the kings and queens of England that became popular about a decade ago. It prompted me to fish The King's Witch by Cecelia Holland out of its place in the display. The lady beamed.
I was witness to an ugly side of life. A handsome man in his early 20's came stumbling along, obviously intoxicated. He happened to make his return the same time as Nell, a lovely middle age woman who always wishes me well. She cared enough to engage him. He put an open bottle of prescription drugs to his mouth and swallowed a few pills. Nell asked what we should do. I had no clue. Had she owned a cell phone she would have called the cops, even though the kid mentioned he was carrying heroin. He also said he was ready to jump off a building. Nell hit the nail on the head in saying he was too stoned to be making any decisions. I sensed he was issuing a cry for help. She mentioned the program at Coney Island Hospital. He asked her to come with him. She balked, then started walking with him. They'd made it through two of the eight block journey before I lost sight of them. While they were beside me, one of my main benefactors arrived with four books. She mentioned that her daughter, 25, who worked for the Board of Education, died of an overdose of oxycodone. All I could say was how sorry I was to hear that. I imagine the parents of the young man are heartbroken over his state. Hopefully Nell is the angel that leads him to recovery.
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