The Book of Sarah

I bought some nice things last night. The woman at Boyd's who measured me remarked about the coolness of my skin. I told her I did yoga, whatever that's supposed to mean. But she bought it. And I bought everything else. Oh, and Sarah got a luxurious triple ply cashmere scarf. I can't shop for Baylah there. She says it is not her style. She prefers this little place on South Street. And the last time I gave the Pow Wow Woman, the last time I gave Edith something special from this place, she just rolled her eyes and whistled. But she never wore it. She dresses like a rich bag lady. I could not help but notice all the ingenuine vampires on the streets. What possers! The last time I witnessed anything like that was during the Black Death when they used to ape the grim reaper. And there are obscure death cults in Hind that do something similar. I know I got looks from some of the toy night stalkers. But I don't know if it was because they suspected the truth or because they thought I resembled that actor on Entourage. Remember? I think I told you about him. I think I might have picked up the scent of the Old Woman  somewhere near Washington Square Park. But it could have been the lingering aroma from the thousands of moldering bones planted there after the American Revolution. I am not sure. There was a shivering homeless mass curled up on a steam grate. I took off my Rolex (I have others), kneeled down and snapped it onto his wrist. As I walked away he said - Hey, Asshole! How am I gonna be able to sell this?