When darkness falls Polk Street is total Blade Runner. It isn't the perverts, as you might expect -- other than chafing because of their dominatrix garb, and inflammation of the tender areas, they are even-tempered and benign.
It's the wandering solitary eccentrics in the fog, for whom this reality offers scant allure. Their minds have substituted something else, sometimes a very long time ago. Some of them are Alex Jonesian in their alternativity, others merely droid-like.
In a different universe, I would retire to my den after returning home from work, and settle down with a pot of tea (Keemun or Lapsang Souchong), a volume of Tang history or Dutch-Indonesian cookery, plus a selection of choice dictionaries, a tin of Dunhill Dark Flake, matches and an ashtray, and two or three pipes.
Unfortunately, I have an apartment mate who objects to smoking.
And my den is the teevee room we share.
A problem, yes?
No, I have no issue with her as an apartment mate, because we like each other, make allowances for the oddness of the other person, and, crucially, trust each other not to go all druggie or psycho.
This is San Francisco, and druggie or psycho is very common.
Years ago one could head over to a cafe in North Beach for pipe and a pot of tea, but the nut quotient has gone up, drastically, and the other patrons now lead good clean wholesome lives which have no room for tobacco.
Apparently we pipe smokers kill children and puppies.
Even in dystopia there is myopia.
If it meant that I could smoke my pipe and read my book in peace, I might happily do something very nasty to spoiled brats and chihuahuas.
More so if a pot of good strong tea was involved.
What a person needs in San Francisco is a ventilated basement or garage with a fairly comfortable chair, a table next to it large enough for a tea tray and the clutter associated with enjoying a pipe, and a bookshelf. A source of light suitable for reading by, and maybe a heater for foggy nights.
Perhaps two or three fairly comfortable chairs.
Someone else might like to read.
Or a cat.
This blogger is tolerant, and open to other tobaccos and choices of tea.
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