Yesterday, I found half a can of tuna fish on the windowsill. Not sure which is a more disturbing thought, that someone was eating tuna fish in my bookstore or that they just left the remains lying there.

Sam is still trying to find a canary. No one knows why. The others, all of them including the three women who float about the floor without attempting to do too much work but know everything, are perplexed. Sam is a cat person. He likes to watch movies. Maybe he wants to feed his cat a canary, although that's too violent for Sam. Still, I can picture how it would happen: by accident. He would try to convince himself that a bird and a cat could be friends. And then, an hour later, a happy cat and a few feathers. Of course that would only happen if Sam weren't Sam and life were more like the movies.

The old hag, Betsy, was pestering everyone again. The other booksellers are getting annoyed at her, especially the three. She means well. Its just hard to remember that sometimes.

Of course, I saw Phil at the bar. He arrived much later than I did, when all I wanted to do was go home. Somewhere in the evening he lost interest, became intrigued by a Sicilian filmmaker (that would be more interesting than a bookseller...). And he didn't protest when I left, or even seem to care that much. Just some half hearted promise to maybe see me tomorrow.

Am I magic that fizzles after two seconds or what?