Elevator Pitch

BC (before COVID), I found myself in Reno as a presenter at their annual Literary Crawl event. On the way back to my hotel room, I shared an elevator with an older gentleman who looked like Father Time if Father Time chewed tobacco.

“Whatcha got there?” he growled as the door clanked shut.

“This? A book I wrote. Vegas ghost story.”

“For sale?”

I nodded. “Ten bucks.”

He whipped a greasy bill out of his duct-taped wallet and I signed my last remaining copy just in time for the door to open.

I thanked him and we shook hands — you could do that in those days — and he disappeared down the hall.

The whole transaction lasted maybe twenty-five seconds. A real elevator pitch.

 

 

 

 

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