SLOWLY TIPPING OVER

Yesterday was horrendous. But enough about that. Today is a day off, which means that it will be enjoyed thoroughly. What I envision for the day is buckets of Hong Kong style milk-tea and dim sum at one of the Chinatown lunch counters, followed by a long walk around the neighborhood, ogling young ladies and listening in on conversations.
While smoking a pipe.

Being a dirty old man errrm, 'vibrantly mature masculine type person' is so much more rewarding with good tobacco.

And, speaking of which, the "Wall of Pease" mentioned in a previous post is more unstable than ever. Yesterday while I was contemplating wearing a tie, still fresh and dewy from my bath, two tins slowly tipped over and fell down. The flying buttress of Rattrays tobacco cans is the only thing keeping that section from collapsing entirely.
It, likewise, consists of puffy exemplars.

[The Wall of Pease: over two hundred tins of Gregory Pease's pipe tobaccos, containing a large number of Latakia mixtures, many of which date back to 2005 and 2004. When tobacco ages, the complex chemicals that are present break down, making the product richer, mellower, and more harmonious. The fermentation will cause sealed tins to swell.
Latakia, a fire-cured tobacco from the Mid-East, really does require Virginias, as Latakia lacks the natural sugars necessary to such secondary fermentation in a sealed tin. The same goes for Burley mixtures, by the way. I have an open tin of Bob Runowski's blend Haunted Bookshop next to computer, which smells deep and fecund, intoxicating. The tin was bulgily rotund before I broke the seal, after eight years of aging.]


This is the best time of year for smoking a pipe while wandering around admiring shapely women. Because in hot weather many of them show a marked lack of sound judgement. Bless them all.

"Put some clothes on and go to college!"

Now, perhaps you might think that the well-brought-up middle-aged pipe-smoker would have cogent words of advice for the young as regards clothing, especially if it is clear that they have no clue.
But you would be wrong! I do not want to be lynched by angry females between the ages of twenty and whenever (young is a relative term), and will consequently keep my mouth shut and my eyes silently open.

Instead I shall enjoy every moment. Each and every glorious wispy shreds of clothing moment. So good with a pipe!

Then more milk-tea. And another pipe.

I'm thinking flue-cured leaf.

Aged Flake.



Probably best to avoid Grant Avenue. Too many wide women from the Midwest or other overfed parts of the country. I manifestly do not need to be reminded of the horrid junkfood that passes for good eating in deprived regions.

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