Sold one book, swapped one book, gave one away.
The sale (“Best Ride to New York”) was to a large, soft fellow, with unkempt brown hair extending to his shoulders from beneath a blue baseball cap and bare feet in rubber flip-flops. He described himself as a maximalist poet (“Do you know Charles Olson?”), an assemblage artist, and an associate of the Merry Pranksters (“I once met Ken Babbs”).
The swap (“The Schiz”) was to an 83-year-old retired architect who wore a straw hat, a multi-colored vest and shirt, and walked with the assistance of a glittery cane. Since retiring, he had become a photographer, self-publishing 20-or-so books. The one I received was a collection of photos of “found” or purchased items, like blocks, or dolls, or miniature animals (My favorite were his rhinoceroses), all brightly colored and arranged in towers or within boxes or other dioramas of his creation.
The gift (“Cheesesteak”) was to a retired pediatrician, a friend-of-a-friend. We’ve never met but he’s a valuable contributor to a mini (five-man)-basketball-discussion group we have going. He’s read a couple of my books and when I heard he was unaware I’d ushered at the Palestra, I thought I’d fill him in.
In other news…
1.) I discussed – but made no sale – to a woman who had commandeered my usual table before I got to the café. This has happened before but the interlopers usually depart before too long. This woman, however, had ensconced herself with a tablet, a large glass with one drink, a to-go cup with another drink, two small bags, a plastic container with foodstuffs, and a small roll of toilet paper. (“For my sniffles,” she explained when she saw me looking.) “People always tell me I should write,” she said. “I have such interesting stories. But I don’t like to sit in one place.”
“You could stand,” I offered. “Like Hemingway.”
She was still there when I left. She had cheery discussions with several people she seemed to have just bet . She had such a good time I feared I would never sit at my table again.
But she has not been back yet.
2.) I also had conversations with a woman who had a copy of Clausewitz “On War” on her table and who turned out to be a retired research chemist. “Chemistry is a lot like war,” she explained, but I didn’t quite follow why. And I had a conversation with a woman who said she had acquired her former business from “an elderly Jewish gentleman,” which, being an elderly Jewish gentleman myself, was a turn of phrase that piqued my interest. But neither of these conversations had anything to do with my selling books, so they really shouldn’t be here.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.