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Sunday, June 01, 2003
After a 2 PM breakfast, Marlene and I ogled comics and then we returned to our coffee shop to draw girls and octopi. The comic gallery was closed again, so we went to Button Button, a contemporary and vintage button shop. Little framed suicide note from a sixteenth century earl, who claimed there were just too many buttons. Plenty of little drawers with surprises.
We then crossed the street and went to Salmagundi West, an antique and curio shop. The fellow at the counter asked me if I was a regular. I said it was my first time in his shop. He said I look familiar. Generica! Jacob, from the writing and illustrating classes, said the same, and he rechristened me Generica. But the antique shop fellow said I also walked in as if I "owned the place." He said the shop was to close in fifteen minutes and hurried me to the basement to look at the curios drawers. Marlene and I spent all that time opening and closing the little drawers in the Chinese apothecary piece. Our favourite item was "Who is your future love?" game, a board covered in a clear plastic with three balls and many little holes in which the balls would fit. Beside each hole was a descriptive blurb. I struggled to get each ball into a hall and my future love will be a wandering idiot savant and an exceptional human being. Marlene was not so happy with her politically correct, wandering clotheshorse, and tried again. I believe she got a variation of politically correct.
Our next shop was RicYuenn's frock shop. (The link didn't work for me, let me know if it works or does not for you.) Ric told us that he added the extra n so no one would mistake him for a green grocer's.
Finally we found the Bfly Atelier open. (Another link that didn't work for me.) A nice, bespectacled girl with a tattoo on her left ear came up to me and asked for a $5 entrance fee. I looked at her askance and she let me off. I did ask her why she didn't put a sign on the door to inform partons that there was an entrance fee. She said it was a good idea and, with painstaking precision, began to write the letters. I left the gallery before she finished the sign.
I arrived too early at Nyala, the Ethiopian restaurant, and sat down to drink a South African beer while I drew the glasses and candle on the table before me. The waiter (and big afro son of the owner) told me that half of the tej would explode and liquor laws made it too difficult to import from the U.S.
Mimi showed an unhealthy attraction to a clothing store ad postcard.
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