THE KNOWN WORLD

There you are, happily walking your dog along the streets of San Francisco, not a care in the world, when an awful smell assails you. No, it's not the ever-changing spectrum of sewer reeks (especially noticeable on Clay Street next to Embarcadero 3, or at the intersection of Pine and Battery), nor the hippie dry-heaving outside Macys, but something worse.
Much worse: burning nicotiniacal leaves.

Somebody is smoking! Heaven forefend!

Perhaps you should have worn a mask, and not come within two feet of him? After all, there's a pandemic going on, and your precious 'mahfreedums' might be a little impacted by common sense. Fluffy doesn't mind the smell, he's happily sniffing at my leg.

Smoking, as everyone knows, is cool and hip. A better expression of everyone's unique and creative individuality can not be found. Why, it's totally groovy!

The touristic poster above was a reaction to the horrible warnings on tobacco products in England, which take away the romance of poison entirely. Sad.


I don't need another lecture from amateur Nurse Ratched types.


On the other hand, the hipster dudes saying that it's just the poisonous chemicals they spray on cigarette tobacco that are dangerous, "smoke something pure and natural like the Native Americans, man", are out of their ever-loving minds.

Kindly both of you shut up. They way y'all go on about tobacco, you'd think it was sex.



And speaking of which, the other day I was happily smoking my pipe on Waverly when a young lady wearing ripped jeans, a black stretchy sports bra type thing, and an open flappity shirt like a sports coat, walked by. And despite her lovely navel, velvety stomach skin, and collar bones, being so well-displayed, all I could think of at that moment was "damn' girl, it's FREEZING out here". I had FOUR layers of clothing on my torso. Necesary! When I spoke to my cardiologist last year about a suspicion that my meds made me more sensitive to extremes of temperature, he opined that that was just getting old. His dad who used wander around in shorts and a tee-shirt now wears a sweater during the cooler part of the year, sometimes a coat.

I'm blaming climate change, because it can't be me.

I'm the same as I ever was.

I am not old.



Full day planned. Porkchops over rice for lunch, shopping, errands, and wandering around fully dressed irritating anti-smokers both before and after tea. I've learned not to enjoy a full bowl of Rustica by HH Macbarens, because the last time I did so I was crazy as a loon the rest of the day. I fully expect my coworker to say something about that the next time I see him.
Small half bowls only.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================