It is Tom's idea that we should try to sell those discarded books piled in our dining room, though I am doubtful that this will come to anything and am all for just hauling them to the Goodwill, however I defer and T loads them into various crates and laundry baskets and we drive downtown to Yes Books, a dark narrow crowded shelves-are-going-to-tip-over-and-kill-you kind of delightful used bookstore, except that there is no parking anywhere close, so we have to hoick our heavy book baskets up a long hilly block from the car to the store, which is hard and tiring but I do it, thank you, exercise regimen, and when we get inside the book man begins sorting through our books and he has an unimpressed look on his face and I am resigned to hoicking them back downhill again and I am trying hard not to look at anything on the shelves in case I am tempted to buy it, and then suddenly the book man says I will pay you $140 for this stack, and I am shocked--Hey, we actually made money off books, I say later, though T says More like recouped a few losses, which okay he has a point, anyway back to the bookstore story, when the book man asks Who should I make the check out to? I say Dawn Potter, and he says Oh, you're Dawn Potter, I have seen your poems, they come through here sometimes, and I am flustered, and as we're walking back to the car with the rejects T says You got to be famous for 30 seconds