My adventures promoting my books on the streets of Brooklyn, and my thoughts on books, film and current events.
Writers love irony. I was back in business in my usual nook for the first time since last Wednesday. A lot of people stopped and asked where I'd been. One wondered if there was going to be a turf war, as Svetlana/Vivian has been hawking her fat burner there during my absence. I assured her there was not. I'm not out there to fight. I'll adapt and adjust. S/L arrived about a half hour after I did and set up shop near the bus shelter and did fine. She even bought a Wayne Dyer self-help book from me. I wanted her to have it free, as she donated a bunch of non-fiction business-oriented books to me a few months ago, but she insisted on paying. I feel guilty for not having purchased her product, although I certainly don't need it.
There I was, daydreaming, when a car pulled up to the bus stop. "Compatre," the driver called, exiting and opening his trunk. I've been saying hello to him since I first moved to the area in '88, although I've never learned his name. He lives on Sheepshead Bay Road, which leads to the waterfront promenade. He placed a large plastic bag and a medium sized cardboard box at the curb. "You gonna be rich," he quipped in his Latino accent. "I been looking for you for three days." I thanked him and he immediately drove away. He left a wide variety of books, both fiction and non. The first I noticed was a hardcover edition of Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope. There was also a soft cover version. A right-winger was going to profit from a left-winger's book. Sure enough, both sold, and the buyers matched his constituency: a college student and a black woman.
There were also a number of booklets on cats among the donation. I put them in a stack on the ledge that runs along the garden in front of the apartment building. A Russian gentleman purchased all of them. Another, who loves cook books, purchased two. Another, who preference is thrillers, returned two and purchased two more. And another bought three novels in his native tongue. It looks like I'm going to have to sell the remainder of the Russian books at a steep discount. Most are sci-fi/fantasy, and woman are passing on them. I still have more than a hundred. Three for a dollar should get them moving. It's 100% profit, so it doesn't really matter what price I set. Thanks, folks.
The best thing about this day is that my hip is feeling no ill effects from yesterday's round of golf. I'll be able to play at least once more.
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