The first sale of the day was a seemingly normal older lady who paid for her stack of Ed McBain mysteries by digging a filthy gym sock brimming with coins out of her purse and counting out piles of small change on the counter.
And I turned up the stereo to drown out Sandra, who's perched on a bench by the courthouse clocktower serenading the passing lawyers with her completely bonkers anti-semetic conspiracy theories.
These are not good omens.
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