I ran into this guy at a Duane Reade drugstore, right around the corner from the Brooklyn Historical Society. He wanted to know why I was carrying a file box. He asked, “What you got in that box?” I told him I had lots of pens and pencils and a few notebooks. He seemed a little disappointed. I wish I’d made up a more exciting response. Perhaps I could have told him I was carrying nuclear waste or a shrunken head or some evidence of alien life.
Next time, I’ll be ready.