[usually a sign that I’m about to stop enjoying it.]

Me: Yep.

Guy: So, what’s good to read in here?

[He’s sashaying around the store.]

Me: There’s lots of good books. What kind of book do you like?

[He’s also grinning like the village idiot.]

Guy: Oh, I don’t know. Have you written a book?

[I confess I’m starting to get sick of the sashaying/grinning.]

Me: Are we going to do this all night?

Guy: What, me asking you a question and you not answering?

[touché]

Me: Are you drunk?

Guy: Me? No, no, no. Why…? Oh, I guess you must get a lot of drunks in because you’re across the street from that place.

Me: [nothing]

Guy: Do you look at writers’ stuff?

Me: Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.

Guy: Like, what they’ve written.

Me: Sorry.

Guy: Well, I’ve written a book, and this guy told me to come down and talk to you about it.

Me: Has it been published?

Guy: No, not yet.

Me: Then there’s nothing I can do. We sell books, not printouts.

Guy: I wonder why that guy told me to come here then.

[Probably because he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.]

Me: I have no idea.

Guy: So how do I get it published then? Actually, how do I get them published. I’ve written most of a second book now too, so I guess I need both of them published.

Me: Well you either submit it to a publisher, or you pay to get it printed yourself.

Guy: Do you have an email, or a phone number or something? Someone I can contact?

Me: No.

Guy: I don’t why that guy told me to come here…