THE UNSTUFFED SHIRT

Usually I stop smoking in the apartment before two o'clock, as it takes about three to five hours for the place to air-out. The other person who lives here is a non-smoker, you see, and while her sense of smell is blessedly poor, she will notice the reek if tobacco was burning too soon before she returns home at around seven.

The reason why I am living with a non-smoker is because we're good friends, and you have to have someone you trust around your stuff.
Which is why she and I will continue living together.
Despite both of us having quite separate lives.
Never give up on a reliable person.
It's that simple.

[Also, I will admit that I'm an immense opportunist: she's still thoughtful and considerate towards me, and one could scarcely find a better person.]


By tea-time I am usually so desperate for a pipe-full that I cross the hill into Chinatown, where I will load-up a briar and indulge, after a cup of tea and a snacky-poo.
A man has got to have his snacky-poo.

Chinatown is the perfect place to wander around reeking of pipe-tobacco.
The Chinese take three things for granted: many men smoke; white people smell peculiar; and middle-aged dudes will be odd. Consequently there is nowhere near the level of aggravation that demonstrating such a bad habit might cause elsewhere, like in the Financial District, near a herd of wheat-germ snarfing Berkeleyites, or around perky little cheerleader types.
Heaven forfend that a man should light up in enemy territory.
And yes, I do know that smoking is bad for me.
My growth is already stunted, thank you.

My apartment-mate, being herself Chinese, takes for granted that I have bad habits, smell peculiar, and tend toward a unique individuality (oddness). On the other hand, she's always appreciated that I can be trusted around her stuff, and that I've NEVER stopped respecting her teddy bear. Both of them (she and the fearsome teddy bear) rather wonder if I'll ever start dating again, and though they haven't said it, they hope I will find someone suitable. Which means, obviously, not a wheat-germ snarfing Berkeleyite, OR a perky little cheerleader type.
Honestly, I probably wouldn't mind the latter.
At least not too much. At the beginning.
Scratch that; perky means stupid.
Much like 'Berkeleyite'.
Poo on perky.


Tea and snacky-poos. A sincere tolerance for other people's regrettably non-smoking teddy bears, and a fervent dislike of Berkeleyites and perky cheerleader types. Someone who is capable of appreciating oddness (i.e. "unique individuality"), with one or two innocently bad habits of her own.
Who wouldn't mind the aroma of fine tobacco.
Perhaps willing to try a pipe.
Before 2 o'clock.




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