The novel goes something like this:
A man lives in an urban area and every time he goes out he ends up spending much of his time in line - the cashier always calling out "Next please! Next please."
Finally all the waiting becomes just too much to handle.
And the man changes his name to Next Please, so that every time the cashier calls out he can legitimately argue that he was called to the front of the line.
Now that's pure literary genius.
I wish I could say it was my pure literary genius. But alas, it is not.
I owe it all to the homeless man that wandered into the church building on Wednesday and night and pitched his self-published novel to me and a handful of women who were waiting for our Wednesday night activity to start. He gave an informative monologue, announced that he had six copies of the book in his bag, and concluded that he'd be willing to sell them to us at the low, low price of $15.00 each. Now, if we're talking Barnes and Nobel prices, that isn't half bad...but I'm an Amazon addict myself, and $15.00 just seemed a little steep.