Sold four “Lollipop”’s – and swapped one to a fellow author/publisher for a volume of his seniors’ erotica.
The sales went to (1) a poet/short story writer and ex-secretary of mine in upstate Michigan; (2) a retired boxing promoter/memoirist of Philadelphia and Boca Raton; (3) a retired ER physician and long time friend in Napa; and (4) a Doctors Without Borders radiologist who frequents the café. He paid double and, while I was groping for change, said I should give a copy to someone in need.
The first candidate to engage me was a toothless, semi-incoherent, shriveled woman, her face wrinkled as an apple left too long in the sun. I had already questioned her fitness as a reader before she responded to management’s requests for a face mask by curses and threats of murder.
All, I should note, except her, have been previous readers. Strangers have been staying away.
I thought what I needed was one of those sexy women – usually Asian – whom vendors at Comics Cons post beside their tables. (For $10, you can have your photo taken with the sexy woman.)
“Will I do?” Adele said.
“Sure,” I said.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.