Today In Enormous Balls/Tiny Brain Theater, the dude who stole my poetry books (again, probably by accident) while trying to sell stolen graphic novels came into the store with another stack of stolen graphic novels to try and sell.
EBTB: Hey, is the owner around today?
Me: No. I'm glad you stopped in, though. When you stopped by last week, you picked up a few of my books by accident.
EBTB: No, sir. I did not.
Me: You did. Three books of poetry. They were on the counter where you put your books down when you came in. They were gone when you left. I'm sure it was an accident, but I'd really like them back.
EBTB: I didn't have no poetry books.
Me: You totally did. I had just bought them, like, a half an hour before you came in.
EBTB: No, sir.
Me: So, if I go into The Harvard Bookstore basement, I'm not going to find all three of those books on the used poetry book shelves?
EBTB: Your...the...the owner guy is in again on Wednesday?
Me: Yea, and he'll be waiting for you to bring my books back to me. I can write down the names for you, if you want.
I don't think I'll be seeing him again. Unless, of course, he's even dumber and more brazen than I thought.