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.

Saturday, July 21, 2018


The cigar was fairly mediocre and irregularly rolled, the soup was rather good, but the show was enchanting. And frankly, I would've gladly traded the cigar for more of the show.
No, shan't mention the cigar brand. It was a freebie anyway.
The soup was spicy; sausage and mustard greens.
And the show was accidental.

I had chucked a small handful of broken noodles into the soup, let it cook a little longer, and then went out to the front steps to enjoy a cigar before dinner. The food needed to cool down a bit before I dished it up. Across the street a pretty young Asian lady wearing just a black bathing suit and an oversized white cardigan against the cold was wrestling her big-ass motorbike from the sidewalk into a crowded garage.
The cardigan was not buttoned up.

I had no idea a presentable young person with such charming taste in evening wear lived across the street. This changes the paradigm.

No, I shan't stroll up to her some day to introduce myself, because I'm rather shy, twice her age, and not into motorbikes. Instead, I'll just count on her coming up to me late in the evening, when I'm smoking my last pipe of the day, and self-assuredly striking up a conversation. Perhaps about some very civilized pipe tobacco with an old-school aged Virginia aroma, slowly smoldering in a conservative pipe (no weird extroverted Danish freehands), high quality briar of a reliable make, and how she can tell that I am a quiet well-behaved sort with seriously good taste.

And why hasn't she seen me before?

Yeah, somehow I don't think that is likely to happen. Not in this life.

To the average youngster half my age I probably look like a dessicated old fossil, or the Republican asshat in the company mailroom, who always sneers when handing over her Victoria's Secret catalogue.

I still have plenty of that sausage left. Good with mustard greens, but also probably German-style, with curry.

In a very short while I shall be heading out with dark flake in the Comoy apple, for a nice quiet smoke outside a nearby public house. Now and then I'll go back in to revisit my drink, but most of the time I'll be daydreaming.
Think of it as a process of deconstructing the day.
A pipe allows for quiet time.


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