THEY'LL BE WAITING AT THE OLD BOUNDARY ROAD

Beautiful and almost otherworldly. The stretch of Larkin Street between Sacramento and Pacific Avenue has few pedestrians at an early hour. And because of the unseasonal rain (drizzle), none of the joggers were about. Just myself, two or three dog walkers, and Canto auntie with the pistachio hued hat doing her walkies. When I left the building my apartment mate was scratching herself and watching Tombstone Territory on the boob.
Starring Pat Conway.

A first smoke, Virginia - Perique in the Peterson Kapet, moisture in the air, umbrella. No bad guys. No desperate miners or card sharks.
No psycho gunslingers. No joggers.

PETERSON KAPET, OVAL SHANKED

Last night, during my final pipe of the day, the only other person out was the Tourette Syndrome fellow. Whom I had to disappoint -- sorry, sir, I have no cigarettes -- but whose reaction was calm and controlled; no twitches, no coprolalia (unlike for two plus blocks previously, I had heard him several minutes before I saw him), and no disturbing behaviour.
A lack of cigarettes is, probably, fairly normal.


Given my own reliance on tobacco, I can understand the comfort a good smoke brings. It's calming, induces contemplation and rational thought, and keeps most people away from one.

It should be subsidized as necessary medication.
Good for sanity, preserves public order.

Oh, and it smells so very nice.
Old-fashioned perfume.
Incense-like.

Hello Kitty just loves pipes.
And pipe smokers.
Of course.


Certainly everyone in my vicinity while I was out with my pipe was sane, balanced, and rational. I'm sure that was not a coincidence. Later, when the programmers and marketers leave their apartments for large coffees, and donuts from Bob's, it will be different.
Repulsively so.


When I returned, she was watching Bat Masterson with Gene Barry.
Oh, those manly men with their square jaws!
So, so, so, all American!

TOBACCO INDEX


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