Sold two Goshkins.
The first went to “Rikki” (not her real name), a six-foot-tall, dish-water blonde with her hair wrapped in a red bandana. She wore black slacks and black top, with her midriff showing. “A musician,” she said.
Also my first transsexual customer.
The second went to “Anastasia” (ditto), a casually dressed, sixtyish woman with German accent. “Artist/philosopher.”
“What kind of philosophy?” I said.
“Still learning,” she said.
“Nazis,” she elaborated. Teaches in southern California.
My first philosopher too.
Feeling good about my increased business (not-to-mention my tapping new markets), I instituted a new policy. Ten percent of my gross into the baristas tip jar.
“You don’t have to that, Bob,” Jose said.
“I want to,” I said. Tapping my heart. “Nahis.”
In other news…
1.) Faithful readers will recall my sending an IWKYA to an artist, with whom I had connected via FOM, in thanks for his expert advice on the conditioning of cowboy boots. He has (more than) reciprocated with the gift of one of his works, a small (3″X5″), collapsible book, which folds out into 22 pages, with poems on 17. Dome Poems is the title. (Ours is “#208 of 200.”) The words are arranged with one (or two) on top, the rest descending down both sides, widening as they go. Sometimes it seems you must mix and match the words to have them make sense. Your own sense, that is. (“Trippy,” I would say, if I still said “Trippy.”)
2.) Faithful readers will also recall I recently completed the editing of a memoir by the Philadelphia-based boxing promoter, J. Russell Peltz. Beside being educational and great fun, I was paid both in dollars (American) and goods. The latter just arrived: a vintage poster advertising the May 1958 fight at the Arena between Lenny Mathews and Pappy Gault. (Seats $2, $3, $5.) A month later Mathews would K.O. Henry “Toothpick” Brown, at Connie Mack Stadium, on the undercard of Gil Turner vs. Sugar Hart, the first live fights witnessed, becoming my local favorite. (Charley Scott, who figured prominently in Cheesesteak, fought in one of the Mathews-Gault prelims.)
It’s at the framers now. Wall placement is being negotiated with Adele.
3.) Now a reward for those of you who have read this far. As previously mentioned, I will give a copy of my new book (expected release this summer) to anyone who sends me a self-addressed stamped ($2.91, domestic) envelope, at POB 9492, Berkeley 94709. A correspondent has suggested that the reason I got such a limited response (one), aside from having initially given out the incorrect Zip Code, was that people were unlikely to purchase something they didn’t know anything about.
It is true that I may have over-estimated the allure of my brand name – though I didn’t consider requesting postage much of a “purchase – so I have taken her lesson to heart. The book, entitled “Lollipop,” is an account of the year I spent in VISTA (Sept. 1967 – Sept. 1068), on the South Side of Chicago. During that year Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy were killed, the Democratic Convention (police) riots happened, and I lawyered for a multi-thousand-member street gang. So the material is of interest, I would think.
The m.s. is with my editor/formatter now. I expect to print 250 copies. First come, first served – and I may limit the freebies to 100 or so. That’s up in the air
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.