I sniff my way through the T-shirt table yet again.
I battle the hordes surrounding the T-shirt tables for a proper sniff.
As tequila, beer and T-shirt tables were set up at the theater, and Whale Belly, the band playing for the reception, did a sound check, Dan Nuxoll, the programming director for Rooftop Films, ducked into a stairwell to explain why he selected the movie from thousands of submissions.
Each super-ordinate category was represented by four different base-level concepts (animals: bear, wolf, deer, fox; flowers: rose, sunflower, orchid, tulip; clothes: jacket, pants, shoe, shirt; furniture: table, chair, sofa, closet), and each base-level concept was represented by 60 pictures of different exemplars.
If you happen to spot an afro, above a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a tropical shirt, moving from table to table around The Garden, buying people drinks and generally being a G, you're in luck.
The literary nobs may wrinkle their noses, but writers and hacks of the plaid-shirt, kitchen-table, blue-collar school of writing – those boiler-stokers in the engine room of the postwar mass-market paperback revolution who nourished the then-renegade pulp genres of crime fiction, sci-fi, fantasy and cheesecake soft-core porn – knew that writing is writing and money is money.
Mr. DeFord slapped down a dress shirt on the table.
In the diner, a man wearing a maroon work shirt approached the table.
As Helou and I were talking, a young fan in a jean jacket and a checked shirt approached the table.
