Sold two “Cheesesteak”‘s. One to a guy in my locker room aisle. One to the wife of an ex-officemate at the café. My “Buy Bob’s Books” display also attracted a tall, thin, angular thirty-something woman, in striking lime green tights, black hoodie and black baseball cap, who was further off her rocker than she had initially appeared.
Previously, Renee Blitz, the octogenarian writer of idiosyncratic, profane, semi-punctationless feuilletons, of which Adele and I are great fans but at which most others, including her daughters, roll their eyes, proposed she and I read jointly at the Jewish Seniors Center.
“I don’t think I’m Jewish enough,” I said.
“You’re Jewish enough,” she said.
“if you arrange it,” I said.
This week Renee reported, “They don’t want us.”
“Why not?” I said.
“She didn’t give a reason. She just said, ‘No.'”
“That’s it,” I said. “Tell her I’m converting to Roman Catholicism.”