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The grapes of young capitalism

A little blond girl of six or eight just tried to sell me grapes here inside Victrola. She approached without a sound, and when I turned to her, she simply asked, "Would you like to buy some grapes?" She carried a bag of white grapes, as I might pick up at a grocery store. I responded, "No, thank you." I'd like to have known her story, but in our world, a single man in the back corner of a coffee house should probably avoid extended conversation with an unaccompanied little girl. Upon my refusal, the young entrepreneur walked on, selling a handful to a table a few steps away. Strange.

At 02:00, I again spent time in the company of Deep Space Nine. Part of me would like to spend today asleep. There is, however and not surprisingly, some work to be done.

Managed to pull a muscle in my lower back overnight as well. Neither standing nor sitting is coming easily (though this Victrola chair is providing some nice support), and carrying things, like my bookbag, is a unique challenge. Old.

My apartment building is having a semi-annual yard sale today, so I awoke to the sounds of amateur commerce outside my window. As I sought more sleep, those sounds integrated into my dreaming. In my dream, however, the yard sale was accompanied by a breakfast buffet. My dream was better.

Should head home— need some quiet.

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