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.
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Monday, July 16, 2018


A brief survey of the neighborhood last night indicated that staying out for a prolonged period, even at the friendly neighborhood public house I favour, was contra-indicated. Despite their anniversary fiesta
Just too much "stuff" in the air.

Item one: a carload of women dressed like filles de joie (i.e.: trashy hoes) parking, then staggering down the block screeching. I am not entirely sure whether their clothing choices were well-thought out or meant ironically.

Item two: a flock of drunken bicyclists. One of them with a boom box.

Item three: biggest completely fake breasts ever, that being a cross dresser making a statement with those completely unbelievable augmentitits under his sweater. He seemed unstable.

Item four: very loud dance party with trashy people at a local bar, blocking the sidewalk between Clay and Washington on Polk.

Item Five: tattooed heathens. A rather large number of them. You know the type: scrawny build and a narrow drug-addict face, bright eyes, pallid skin.

Item six: a young lady wearing an oversize French flag. And nothing else.

Yes, Eric, the augmentititted person was the one that staggers your eyes every Sunday evening. But he may have had more to drink last night than normal, what with the French winning the cricket championships this year. Which could also explain the rest of the items on the list. Like everyone,
I associate filles de joie with celebrations of national manhood.
As well as wiry methfreaks and heroin junkies.

I smoked my pipe mostly on my own front steps.

In that time I heard police sirens.

Many times.

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