Invariably used without permission.
A few years ago Nate came up for a visit, and we were at the Half Price Books in St. Louis Park. Nate was stocking up on Henry Roth paperbacks or whatever, and I was perusing a very handsome three-hundred page hardcover volume on Tijuana bibles. We’d been in the store for about an hour, and it was about time to leave.
“What’s that?” asked Nate.
“Oh, it’s a book on Tijuana bibles,” I told him. “Really interesting. Very titillating, very scholarly — that’s a rare combination.”
“Well, bring it up front and let’s go.”
I shook my head. “Naw, I’m not going to buy it,” I said, admiring a crude rendering of Cary Grant’s wang before reshelving it.
“Why not? It looks great.”
“It is, there’s some really good essays and really charming drawings of Cary Grant’s wang, but I don’t have any money.”
“How much is it?”
“Five dollars.”
“Five dollars? Are you kidding? You have five dollars! Come on! Buy it!”
“Naw, my personal library doesn’t need an informative, well-researched illustration-heavy book featuring drawings of Cary Grant’s wang,” I said dismissively. ”Let’s go.”
“Fine, but you are going to regret not buying that,” he warned.
I waved my hand and frowned and made that pfffft sound. We left the store and drove back down Excelsior Boulevard and the Miracle Mile, back into Minneapolis.
That was four years ago. There is not a week that goes by where I don’t think about that god-damned book.
Via 
