Owen and I are walking up the Avenue on our way to Strada.
Why Incububula? he asks.
When I named the blog, I tell him, I thought it was going to be about sexual obsession in a rare book library.
It's kind of a sexy name, he says.
Incunabula plus incubus, I explain. Early printed books plus a male sex demon.
Plus incubate, says Owen.
Which is the ancient Greek form of meditation, I say. You lie on your back for hours in a cave, making yourself receptive to the gods.
A rare book library is a little like a cave, Owen says. But if you're on your back in the stacks, you're probably doing something you shouldn't.
Exactly, I say.
It's too bad, in a way, says Owen. I would have liked reading that blog.
Well now it's a blog about book obsession on Telegraph Ave, I say. Hey, isn't that Scabby the book scout? I point to the food carts on Bancroft. A familiar figure hovers there, an eyesore in a pink and orange shirt.
Yeah, that's him, says Owen. I heard he had a new outfit. Ow, that hurts! Orange and pink Scabby, ugh.
You heard? I ask. What is this, word on the avenue? Scabby sighting?
I make a mental note: blog this.
Well you know, Owen says. Book scouts are getting a little scarce these days.