We’re at a bookstore, A. and I. Â It’s a used bookstore but it looks like a good haul. Â They have several copies of Snow Crash (for example) though they’re all in varying states of decay. Â I go through each one meticulously; I want to leave with one of them.
I get an alert on my phone. Â My bank has been sending balance update by text message. Â Convenient, but sometimes it’s troublesome to discover randomly, in the middle of the day that the $10 insurance co-pay you charged to your card turned into a $10,000 hospital bill instead. Â In a panic, we give up our search for the perfect used hardcover of Snow Crash and leave the store.
Hungry and hundreds of miles from home, we wander into a deli across the street. Â It looks like I recognize the proprietor (S.W.?). Â I ask for a ham sandwich; he gives me pastrami on rye. Â I hand it back. Â “Ham it is.” Â And I get back pastrami on pumpernickel. Â He smiles and insists that the pastrami is the way to go.