mana

She's behind the counter because she works here and I ask her if she would consider selling me the cd I'm holding in my hand. She stops painting her toe nails and smiles at me and - because I don't believe in her smile - I start to sing.

She stares at me in awe, maybe because I'm an awesome singer, or simply because I'm standing inside the record store and doing something that's not expected of me. I pause my singing. She finally stops staring and returns to her toe nail paint job.

In a fury, I jump over the counter like a lion, and she falls off her chair in sheer fright. I lay her down on the floor and rip off one of her painted toe nails and I can see it hurts because she's crying as if to tell me it's annoyingly painful, and for some reason I really do believe her this time. I let her lie there on the floor on her side of the counter as I return to the customer's side.

She gets up on her feet. I ask if she would consider selling me the stamp-sized Hans Hoffman I'm holding in my hand. She's staring again, not because I'm singing this time, but because she's never heard of Hoffman and all she sees is me holding her toe nail in my hand. I've totally given up on buying anything from this woman and I'm thinking it's a shame they only keep empty covers out in the store.

When people ask me about the unique piece of art hanging on my wall, I never tell them about the day I walked into a record store and came out with a stolen toe nail. Instead I simply tell them it's a Hans Hoffman called Stamp Rain.

Just another happy junkie