At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Tuesday, April 04, 2017


Summer has started in Marin. Two weeks ago it was the rainy and frigid tail of Winter -- or what passes for that in the civilized world (coastal Northern California), where we never get freezing snow OR ferocious wind storms like they had in Georgia recently -- and here it is, shirtsleeve weather.
As well as shorts. And Hawaiian shirts.

And cleavage. Haphazardly brought-up young ladies and elderly men cannot resist showing off their err, umms.

San Francisco, where I live, is not prime territory for that. The cleavage season is shorter, and often involves sports-bras runnning past at high speed. Marin is a kettle of an entirely different fish.
The weather is semi-tropical there.
Most of the year.

While I severely disapprove of haphazard cleavage, I cannot fail to notice it, and rate it for content. And poise.

Cleavage is where soup and hot ashes from your cigar end up.

Fortunately the leathery old goat who takes off his shirt and soaks up rays on the grass in front of my place of work hasn't been around yet, but it's only a matter of time. The baggy shorts and spindly wattled-gam crowd have already blossomed. As have women with thin skin-tight fabric.

Proper young ladies and civilized elderly gits dress discreetly.

Nobody needs to wear baggy cargo shorts.

Pink, size too large.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:

All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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