Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Most of it's even true. Written by Scott Lee Williams
Sunday, June 19, 2016
One of the vendors at the Flea, the one they call "Tall John," smokes a pipe into which he occasionally sprinkles a little weed along with his tobacco. He sells vintage furniture and has several large, interesting tattoos running up and down his lean, veiny arms.
He looks me up and down in the morning, before we're done setting up, says, "Yeah, that haircut, 's that like a chemo thing?"
When I confirm, he nods sagely and says, "I ended up stronger than when I started, with mine."