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.

Wednesday, June 20, 2018


Last night after three, while we were trekking homeward across the wilds of Pacific Street, it was around fifty degrees with a bitter wind. The bookseller told me it would affect me less if I embraced the wind, became one with it.
Perhaps struggled to understand where the wind was coming from.
Which is more Californian than I can ever be.
Hump the buggery wind.

I'm sure the wind embraces dolphins, just like the pot industry.
Which is another thing I fervently dislike.

Sheer misery. A struggle of near-epic proportions. At three o'clock plus in the morning, San Francisco can be a bitch on the hills.

It took me over ten minutes to warm up once I got home. Good thing there was no spry female in my bed waiting for me, as she would have jumped up screaming and swearing once I slid my cold limbs in beside her.

Slim consolation.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:

All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


Post a Comment

<< Home

Newer›  ‹Older