SOAKING THE GRUMPUS

There are three places in the Bay Area where a man can smoke. All three of them are cigar environments. The Occidental, on Pine Street just down from Belden, between Montgomery and Kearny. Great selection of Scotch and Bourbon. Telfords, in Marin, just off the highway heading to hell but south of Strawberry Village. Fabulous selection of stogies. A slice of heaven for all people who abjure pot, non-smokers, and the easily triggered gnomes who have taken over California. And my bathroom. Cigars are recommended, because you wouldn't want to drop a fine pipe in the water.

Often I will have a cigar in there. The last time I smoked a pipe while shaving was barely above disaster, and I got a thick smear of soap mixed with very short hair fragments on the bowl. And some of it, in.

I'm somewhat neurotic; you can imagine my anguish.


Seeing as we are going through a cold spell at the moment, I am seeing advantages to pristine cleanliness I had heretofore not imagined.
There is a heater in the bathroom, you see. It is warm there.
And with ventilation, the smoke does not enter the rest of the apartment.
My apartment mate is a non-smoker.

I'm not sure if she likes me clean, as we don't get that close, but she probably doesn't mind. As long as the rest of our digs do not smell funky, and the odours of neither pipe nor cigar enter her room.


Warm bath. Strong coffee. Nicaraguan cigar.
Life seldom gets better than that.




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