FIERY LITTLE BRUNETTES!

I am a pipe-smoker. According to one young lady recently, that makes me "like, omg, antique!" And very likely a pervert or pederast, but she wasn't quite sure which. Or was the word she wanted 'philatelist'?
I must learn to avoid people who are less than twenty.
Their little minds are still developing.
It's a tortuous process.

The first pipe of the day is like a timorous virgin, the last pipe of the night resembles a rowdy old bargirl. Reason being that early in the morning, my mouth is still fresh, whereas at the end of the day 'things' have happened. Many things.

Some involving unwise food or drink choices.

Raw bittermelon and sliced chilies are merely salad.
An 'amuse bouche', so to speak.
NOT dinner.


The first pipe yesterday was Arango's Balkan Supreme, which is altogether sparkly and dewy-eyed with a surfeit of Latakia.
Soon succeeded by Altadis 965, also a Latakia blend.
Two more Latakia queens followed..

Lunch consisted of a burrito de carnitas, sin frijoles, con queso y salsa mas over-the-top picante. There was a lovely hint of thyme in this confection, ethereal over the chili whomp to the cranium.
Smoky, herbal, and intoxicating.
Very nice.

For the rest of the day I smoked Virginias.

Dinner was ill-considered. Perhaps I needed some extra flavour at that point. If food can also be likened to a woman, this one was the hairy five-hundred pound trailer trash troglodyte, despite its very discreet size.
Bitter melon has a strong flavour.
Chilies do as well.

Good morning.

In about three and a half hours, I shall load up a bowlfull of Arango's Balkan Supreme again.

I never make the same mistake twice. I always do it five or six times, just to be sure it's wrong.


I am a man of habit.
A pipe smoker.



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