21 September 2004


I am a freak magnet. I don't answer the phone here much, but when I do, there is usually someone very weird on the other end. Case in point: This morning I find myself listening to a low gravely voice over a line awash in static. He was calling from Ventura. He had manuscripts for sale. "Really awesome stuff, man." Holograph poems and lyrics from a 60s pop culture icon. He hung with the Beach Boys. He was a Beatles fan. He was a failed folk singer and he was quite bitter about his failure. He was short. You know the rest of the story. The man on the phone claimed to be an acquaintance. I usually refer such calls to my boss for his consideration but this time I felt I could make the right decision and I politely declined and wished him luck in finding a buyer. I hung up with a most creeped-out feeling coursing through my nerves. Odder still in that I had answered a call placed by the same low gravely voice a couple years ago.

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