At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Tuesday, May 08, 2018


Today's plans involve abluting, letting the apartment air out (because a Flor Dominicana Chapter One that lasted over two hours was smoked, mmm, it's tasty), lunch or snackypus in Chinatown, and, perhaps, buying a new outer garment. Preferably one suitable for a middle-aged man, all gravitas and hipwithitness, with plenty of pockets.

Bus pass and snuff in front right, upper.
Recent lottery tickets in front left, upper.
Tobacco pouch & pipes; front right, lower.
Extra matches, a pipe nail; front left, lower.

The current garment looks severely disreputable.

It may surprise you to know that I myself (occupant of garment) am not severely disreputable. I do not smell bad, eat too much, or dress funny.
I work for a living, and am not in debt up to my eyeballs.

I live by myself in an apartment with over three dozen stuffed animals and a small intelligent Cantonese woman in the other room, who likewise doesn't smell bad, eat too much, or dress funny.
She's an old friend, more or less from college, who also lives by herself.
In San Francisco, most people who live by themselves have someone else sharing their apartment.
Not all of whom tolerate many stuffed animals.
But she does. Which is a good thing.
Some of them are hers.

Shan't bore you with how this ideal living situation came about, suffice to say it's not romantic, we seldom eat together, and both she and her stuffed animals heartily disapprove of my tobacco. Which means that even on my days off, which do not coincide with hers, I am often somewhere outside pissing people off by puffing.

Which I enjoy.

Unfortunately the disreputable looking current garment with all those nice pockets smells a bit. Plus it's torn in a few places, and no longer reflects the gravitas and hipwithitness to which I aspire.

In San Francisco at present, this could be a problem. One does not wish people to look askance, or call the cops because there is a bum lurking outside the healthclub, smoking and looking crazy.

Besides, the garment probably scares the opposite gender.
One does not wish to scare the opposite gender.
One rather likes them.


None of the stuffed animals smoke, in case you were wondering. Though sometimes upon my return home I may find one of them poncing around with one of my pipes declaiming "hey look at me I am the famous English philosopher Bertrand Russel now bow down and kiss my toes", or something like that. They have rich full lives.

None of them will touch the disreputable garment.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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