There was a town-wide yard sale today, where I received two sets of recommendations of books to read (Irving’s Last Night in Twisted River, The Help, and The Story of Edgar Sawtelle), one recommendation of a Greek Restaurant in Ipswich, had a little kid demand I pay him (after he gave me one of my own books), watched a hawk ride a thermal up into the air, turn its blinker on, and head off to my east, and participated in this exchange:
(Car rolls up.)
Driver: Got any dirty books?
Me: As in —
Driver: Porn? Playboy?
Me: Does this book by Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter count?
Driver: (Pause.)
Me: Is that a reluctant yes?
Driver: I’m just kidding. Thanks, anyway.
Drives away.
