Spent too much time fussing around with a couple of ancient pipes.
Enlarged the drafthole of one, redid the rim-bevel of another.
My fingers feel like hell at present. Probably shouldn't have had two cups of strong coffee after coming home from Marin County. The sensible man would have made an early night of it.
I am not a sensible man.
Tomorrow I shall smoke a blend with Perique in both.
And get zipped on Hong Kong milk-tea.
Pastries at Wing Hing.
At five-ish.
My fingers are manifestly better than Donald Trump's. For one thing, they do good work. For another, they aren't short, stubby, and pudgy-wudgilly obscene.
I feel this must be said.
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Upon deciding that I needed to get out of the house yesterday afternoon, I took the bus to the top of the hill, got out, loaded my pipe, and...
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