Oh ho ho, you have GOT to be kidding me. I've been writing that book for 10 years, and I call it this journal. I scanned the back, incredulous. "Folks You Meet in Longs is simply magical. Through voice, Lee Cataluna conjures your neighbor, your co-worker, your raucous classmates, the old ladies you see in Chinatown, the uncles sitting in the garage, and you. Touching."
Touching? Touching like the creep that would buy magnum condoms and mustache wax each night until he finally yanked me over the bag dispenser when I handed him back his change to suggest we consummate our love in the bathroom? Or magical like the old ladies writing checks for 45 minutes for jugs of Carla Rossi wine they immediately dropped on the floor in a tremendous spectacle of flying glass and $4.99 merlot that I would then mop up?
Does it end with the narrarator being fired and carried out of the store by security, pelting a loss prevention lady with her nametag and her green vest as she goes?
I want creative rights to the movie at least.