Wednesday, March 02, 2022


The weather this year is peculiar. Scant rain, warmer than usual. The burning season should be interesting. Last year it started in May. It might be even earlier this time. As a crusty old grouch I welcome nature chasing transplantees back to the Midwest and the East Coast. Come on, guys, wouldn't you rather be surrounded by falling iguanas and ignorant goobers from Philly? It's your native environment! And they make better pizza there! You told us so.

Most of those people look a bit peaked. Drained. Wan. The complete absence of edible cheese pie, cheese steaks, grits, and barbecue affects them. They become malnurished and grumpy, and can't shut up about how much better it is back where they come from.

The poor sodding bastards.

It was "summery" when I stepped outside yesterday evening.
By the time I returned it was quite dense outdoors, the foghorns were lowing and all was silvery grey. When I left to smoke "the pipe for watching rats in Spofford Alley" it had not been so.

Every Tuesday an old friend and myself stop in the old neighborhood for burgers, then at a bar for tea, and at a karaoke place for a nightcap. We gave the Karaoke place a miss; we couldn't identify what tune was being massacred from half a block away, some guy was still bellowing "aaaaaay" when we were a block further in the other direction. No discernible lyrics.

That smoke was quite enjoyable.

On my street, other than porticos brightly lit to keep the crazies from squatting there, few apartment building lights were on. Probably just people on the internet.

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