"Are you from Canada?" the guy taking his stuff out of the freight elevator asks me.
"No, the gentleman around the corner is, though," I reply, hooking my thumb back to where I'd been talking.
"I'm at the holiday market, at Columbus Circle, but I don't pay rent," he says with a grin, opening up the crate on his dolly to show me hundreds of exquisite, hand-painted blue and white eggs.
"Oh man, you must make a mint on these things at Christmastime," I say
One year ago: Sounds Like It Hurt
Two years ago: Seriously?
Three years ago: A Friendly World That Speaks
Four years ago: Cultural Confusion
Seven years ago: She's had a cold