Still on the outside! Still a perpetually broke literary hustler! Here’s my cash in-hand from Harlem book fest . . . For reference, only about $300 dollars with a lot of singles and fives in there. I’m posting a picture of the actual bills as a “thirst trap”

Yeah, baby . . . Ready for that swap? Let’s do it. I’m out here.

Appealing to? Or character’s underlying nature? Unclear . . . But I want to know.

Snapshot. A sample of my experiences, and a look at who I’m actually selling to. Because this is how I gotta sell books, one by one. Roughly 500 copies and counting . . . You tell me. What is “indie lit? How many books do I have to sell to find out?

Nigerian girl. She challenged me to say my own name, but with the Igbo accent . . . I couldn’t, of course, (I’m from Georgia), so I sold her my book for a quarter. She said she was gonna DM me with her review, so stay tuned.

Investigators found over 1000 bottles of baby oil and various lubricants. Pink cocaine. 3 AR-15 guns. And not a single condom. Laughing . . . Yo, this guy Diddy.

Mother of two . . . Bought 2 copies of the book to send to her two sons, a computer programmer and an Air Force corpsman. Recommended that if my son had to take an armed forces scholarship to play D1 ball, the Air Force would be easiest by far.

Like those galoshes, baby.

Feel like virtually every black person in America has known these things about Diddy since the late 90’s . . .

Lawyer named Brian . . . Initially gave me $20 off the bounce, “to support”, said to give books to 2 other people, on him. Came back a few minutes later saying he’d actually take a copy. “Did you say Hong Kong? Ok, fuck it, that sounds kinda interesting.”

Why does the money matter?  Don’t know, just an instinct. For years I was so desperate for people to read my work, was handing out zines on the subway for free . . . I'd come back and see a my shit stepped on and scattered across the floor. Point taken.  Gotta do this for real.

Just mad they dropped it on HBO, nine days AFTER I bought it on iTunes . . .

Got this up over my drawing table. “No epitaph” Agree . . . I’m not doing this pretending like people are gonna remember me.

Fire and forget, Leigh. Let it ride . . .

No days off, Amanda McNeil . . . This book hustle never sleeps.

Nope. Fuck YOU. And I mean that in the most polite possible way . . . Economy of words, bro.

Guy basically cons me out of a book. My fault, was on a roll, I call him over to give him my spiel. Starts hacking and coughing, little glob of yellow spit on his shoulder . . . -after a few minutes I’m happy to give him a free book to send him on his way. (Godspeed, brother.)

Been trying to get you hip to it . . . Here’s that real spit: bokoye dot com Let em’ know.