'Where's it at?'
He motioned with the cloth. 'Behind that one with the big windows. I'm
headin' that way, too.' He looked up at the sky. 'Gonna let up in a coupla
minutes. What're you gonna do in the library?'
'Check the latest Writer's Market and LMP.' I looked closer at him and
repeated, 'LMP. Literary Market Place.'
'What'll they do for you?'
'Point me in the right direction.'
'What for?'
'Peddle an article I wrote.'
'Oh. Writer?'
'Off'n on. Job. Retired now, but keep my hand in.'
'Hey, man, I like writin'.' He looked at me with interest. What's it take?'
'Writin'? Takes writin', and rewritin'.'
'C,mon, man. You're tryin' to sell one. Right?'
'Yeah.'
'So you've been there. Writin' for the real world; doin' somthin' you
want to. What's it all about; like what are ya tryin' t' sell?'
'Industrial stuff,' I said, dismissing it all with a shrug and a wave-off.
'How to organize industrial tools to do a job, and then how to bring 'em
all together with materials, parts, and nuts and bolts to come up with the
finished product.'
'That's technical writin', huh?'
'Yep.
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