Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Windblown silver sky, a few streaks of blue.  Orange rattling leaves.  A crow hops from branch to branch on the other side of the road, blown off-course by the gusts that keep sweeping in from the west.  Deflect, bump head on branch, correct course.  Flurry of black wings.  Today's so-called customers don't want to buy anything, they just want to share opinions that there's no polite reply to.  "I see Volume One of Remembrance of Things Past everywhere, but they're not printing Volume Two any more," says one guy.  "I know a fella who says he's read the whole thing.  Not much of an accomplishment, really." How am I supposed to answer this?  You just automatically disqualified yourself as a judge of...well, anything, really.

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