thunder only happens when it’s raining


For the old firm:
At c 1730h on the 1500 block of E. 57th street, the franchise was approached by the gentleman bearing unremarkable outward similarity to pootie tang. he asked me if i was “into art” while i was putting shit into a car to move said shit northwards to the summer cottage. i said yes before getting a visual make on what and why he might be asking me that, which was because he was carrying a somewhat dented, metal-frame Gauguin print. after i said yes, he sort of waved it at me and said make me an offer, to which i said, oh, sorry, no, i don’t want that. to which he said, just give me some money then, a couple dollars, to which i said, no, no, sorry, not me, i’m for different stuff, to which he said, are you into art, to where i felt compelled to explain that i was into art, yes, all kinds of art, but not that kind, or maybe that kind wasn’t art, at least no it in the way that i like to give you money for it. so then he went across the street and i was left behind.

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