STRUCTURE AND A CLEAN SHIRT

Despite the current situation one must have structure. It's about self-discipline as well as being ready for the eventual reopening. The gentleman screaming about the "N" individual on the intersection last night very clearly lacked both. He had come running from further down Polk Street, and at first I thought that there would be trouble, but when he got to the empty bus stop, still yelling the "N" word as well as the name of the individual who had done him wrong, and had an altercation with an invisible person, I realized it was a bad dose of drugs. Or possibly that his nut-medication had run out.

The drunken woman who stumbled past him probably also came up significantly short on both structure and self-discipline.

I, fortunately, have on over abundance of both.

Get up around six. Take all my medications while the water is heating up for coffee. Take a leak. Piss off someone on the internet after reading the news. Leave the house fully clothed with the first pipe of the day in my mouth before eight. Greet auntie doing her exercise walking up and down the block outside, and carefully avoid joggers.

I must stress the fully clothed element; it's important not to wear your pajamas on the street, because there are fewer pockets for keys, wallet, pipe cleaners, matches, tamper, and pouch of tobacco. It's impractical.
And you look like a right fool wandering the streets in jammies.

[Even if this were a jungle (and it seems so at times), I would get dressed before leaving the camp site. Wild animals seldom rip apart neatly clothed people.
They usually look dishevelled.]

Second pipe of the day after ten, but before lunch.

Third before tea time.


[Gross generalizations: The Asians in this neighborhood are mostly elderly, wear their masks, and give one plenty of space. The Latinos do all the work. The younger white people are all "la la la, I'm just jogging here spreading my infetious droplet rich vapors near everybody, or picking up donuts while yacking with my beer buddies all over the sidewalk, I don't care about anyone", while the older Anglos are pretending that they are in no way related to them, possibly those idiots are from Outer Space.]


After that it's a crap-shoot. The wind comes up in late afternoon, and the right leg by that time feels like the devil. Perhaps a pipe at twilight, without taking a long walk; too many nuts on the street. By nine or so the wind will have died down, dinner will have been had, there are one or two people walking their little pooh factories, plus sporadic nuts, but that's it.

All of this, you understand, punctuates intensive reading. Currently sweating my way through a descriptive grammar of a language with frequent visits to either of two dictionaries of that language, plus hitting up further reference books when necessary.

Also cups of tea, and something to eat.


NOTE: The Parker Russet Billiard pictured above is a pipe I bought from Marty Pulvers when he still had the shop on Battery Street.
It is a damned good smoker.

TOBACCO INDEX


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