Yesterday I spent my lunch hour drinking Lapsang Souchong tea in the cafe on 4th ave reading One More for the Road, listening to a boy who was [wearing a sweatshirt that said 'Nintendo'] talking about Barthes' Death of the Author, four more hours at work, and a few moments staring at the window, looking at a man look at his reflection in the window while pushing his hair behind his ears and drinking a small bottle of Hustler's finest drinking water.
I suggested the sales towers to him and sold two containers of flavored lubricant, and a blow-up doll for his friends.
It was a talking Blow Up Sheep Doll.
