thanks to thud i get a new paragraph:
boy am i pooped. see, i'm a junk dealer by trade; not like the drugs but like actual junk. but to me, it's not junk, it's a bunch of little orphaned treasures. once, i found a small statue of three turn of the century waifs playing with a stick and a hoop. i bought it for three dollars and the owner, an older widower named jules, thanked me profusely for taking it off his hands. said it had been cluttering up his living room for years. "conversation piece, shmonversation piece," he said. anyway, i dusted it off, cleaned it up, and turns out the thing was made of solid gold diamond. now i'm fabulously wealthy and i own a group of widowers of my very own, and i dress THEM up as turn of the century waifs and have them find junk for me. ahhh, what a life. i think i'll eat another grape now.
