Polish Joe, smoker-of-one-hundred-cigarettes, has no particular spot. He sells on West Fourth street, St. Marks, Astor Place--wherever the wind blows him.
Joe prefers to set up late, often in the early evening or at night to catch the late crowd which he relishes. He has an uncanny knack for setting up when bad weather threatens, and thereby hopes to capitalize on a lack of competition from other street booksellers.
Sometimes Joe's gambit pays off. But just as often it doesn't, and Polish Joe will scramble to save his books from the ruinous onslought of a New York monsoon.
He tends to set up very quickly, fueled by nervous energy and chicken Wonton soup. It's as if his books, when only partially displayed, are especially vulnerable to the dark forces of the city and the untamed 3rd avenue night which threatens to annhiliate his books.
But sometimes the forces against Joe--and all booksellers on the street--are very real.
Joe explains why (via RealAudio)
