Deborah Cardona sat, her thick black hair tied into a messy ponytail and a velour tracksuit accentuating her curves, eating Chinese take-out, at a table near the rear of the bookstore and lounge that she owned in East Harlem (it has since closed). Pictures of women kissing and fondling each other hung behind her, framing her strong features between models’ bare legs and lace-clad midriffs. In the front of the store, books were interspersed amongst the colorful sex toys and lubricants that lined the shelves, reminiscent of a wayward candy store. Between bites of General Tso’s chicken, she explained her path from drug dealer to book dealer.
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