"Max Greenwald, custom tailor, of 2111 7th Ave, also dodged death to rescue his stock, but by a bit of guile escaped injury.
"When the bricks started flying, I right away shit off my lights," explained Greenwald. That way I don't make such a good target and I got out and save a lot of merchandise. Pretty soon, however, so much stuff comes flying in even without lights that I gave up and think only of saving myself. Even in the store I wasn't safe, entirely, look." He held up a ten puns slab of placing. One bullseye from this fellow and right away Mrs Greenwald is a widow. Anyway, I lose about 20 suiting lengths of woolens, uninsured, and believe me, never did goods leave my store so quick. No waiting to pick up patterns either!""