Life, Death, In Between

Here’s something surprising I learned today from a Twitter post. Around the world there are women only train cars. The idea is to prevent harassment or worse. In some instances school age males are allowed to ride in them. I doubt this would be allowed in the USA, where the legal wrangling would be intense, and social media would go crazy.

RIP Mr. Peanut, 104, no longer the candy bar’s mascot.

Here’s a pic of private jets lined up at Davos Airport during the recent conference, owned by people who demand ordinary folks be more conscious of the environment:

My thanks to Tatianna, who bought a book in Russian, and to the gentleman who did the same; and to the woman who purchased two cook books; and to The Quiet Man, who picked up two more audio books; and to the gentleman who did a swap of Russian books. Today’s session was memorable. A guy who has bought many wares from me the past few years showed with his wife. I don’t know what he does for a living, but one day he let drop that he has done time. He has the look of someone who is not to be messed with. He intimidates me, although he has never been anything but respectful. He selected a Bruce Springsteen pictorial and The President Is Missing by James Patterson and Bill Clinton. He noticed the cover of Killing, which has a picture of 18th Avenue I took myself. He asked if the novel was about a particular incident. While it is mentioned in the narrative, it is but a small part of the overall theme, which covers abortion, murder, capital punishment, combat, etc.. He has a relationship with the event through his first wife, who suddenly passed away recently at 44. He asked me not to mention her, as it has yet to hit the news. He met her after the incident in question and obviously still has strong feelings for her. She and his current wife were close friends, referring to each other as “sister wives.” The second Mrs. said the first, contrary to her public image, had a big heart and was a great mom. Her husband brought up a number of photos on his cell phone, including one of the urn holding her cremated remains. She was beautiful, sexy as hell. He also showed me a picture of Sammy Davis Jr. in the company of Carlo Gambino. That reminded of the story of my sister’s encounter with the Don. She and her husband were having dinner with friends in a restaurant when the Godfather entered. My brother in law pinned him out immediately, and my sister, uncharacteristically, blurted “That’s Gambino?” and was shushed by the rest of the table. It was so unlike her to lose decorum. My thanks to the gentleman and his wife.

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