His nose had purple veins

First, someone in the opinion section of the Wichita Eagle defended motorcycle noise pollution by saying it was safer because it made the drunk drivers on the road wake up. Then I saw someone wearing a pair of gray cords that I sold to Arizona Trading Company last fall. Then I took a walk, followed an old man with a pipe and a houndstooth hat, and read that the Dow Jones was up 236 points. My newspaper stoop must not have sold because he turned around and asked me a question.
"Are you carryin' books?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you Caroline Muchs?"
"No."
“She took an interview with me and paid $5.”
“Oh. Well I’d take an interview with you, but I can’t pay shit.” Pause. “Can I ask what the interview was about?”
A look crossed his face like he remembered something, or maybe forgot everything, and he slowly began to walk backwards across the street. It was like a car pulling up next to you and making you feel like you're moving, but you're on the breaks.
“Hello?” I guffaw lightly. Glance back to monitor his slow gait across the street and he looks back.
But I have a deadline. There must be something wrong with me because I saw a long-haired hippie wearing Mardi Gras beads and I somehow noticed his kind eyes and smiled at him. I guess sometimes I make the world more two-dimensional than it is because I think it’s easier that way, but it’s not. It’s just flatter.