THEY USUALLY HAVE BEARS

There are times when the single man does not wish to face the hurly-burly of the world, but merely wants to curl up with a pipe, a good book, and a stuffed animal. Especially because the stuffed animal will not object to him smoking; most stuffed animals indulge themselves.

Well, the larger ones do. The smaller ones simply set fires.

I have reason to believe that both the penguins and the Totoro-type individuals like pipes. Totoro One and Totoro Two are most likely normal in that regard; either blends with Turkish and Latakia, or standard Virginia flake.

The penguins probably like Burley tobacco.
Which tastes just like herring.


I have no idea what the various stuffed animals read.
Possibly cook-books. They look at each other.
Speculatively, and with calculation.
As if plotting something.
Herring burgers.


I'm not depressed. Just not a very social animal.
Cognizant of my peculiarity in most eyes.
Best, sometimes, just to hide.


Loneliness isn't bad when you consider that most people are, on the whole, not particularly broad or deep.


The stuffed animals, however, are crazy.
Not composed. Not peaceful.
Not temperate.



After a walk and a bath I'll probably spend all day reading and drinking tea. Indulging in some Virginia and Perique flake, and enjoying the near-emptiness of the apartment building. Private and secret.
Late lunch, and observing people from a distance.
Some of them are exceptional.
Not many.


I wouldn't mind their company. If they read. And didn't mind the smell of a pipe. And if they could appreciate companionable quietness, stuffed animals, and the occasional cup of tea.



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