BRILLIANT PLUMAGE

The fog did not creep in yesterday. It stormed in. There was nothing subtle about it. The last walk around the neighborhood was marked by two and a half block visibility before the grey. By the time I returned dark had come and the fog had dissipated, glowing rectangles were visible at the tops of the nearby hills.

I washed down the amlodipine besylate with a glass of yeun yueng and plonked on the internet a bit before going to bed.

Calmness. Peace. Marginally too cold for many people.
Bar life has returned after the pandemic.
Polk street was audible.

YUEN YEUNG

Around tea time yesterday, at the bakery, a young Indian woman very haltingly used her university-taught Mandarin to communicate with the counter person. Which was never-the-less a commendable achievement, the relatives accompanying her should be proud of her.
I understood her, and my Mandarin is absolutely horrible. Unfortunately my Hindi is rusty. Which is actually a mighty good thing in this case, because it removed any temptation to show off, which would have stolen her thunder. It really was her moment. Kudos.


Yes, I know that there are people like that in Singapore and Hong Kong.
But this is San Francisco, where it's uncommon.


Tourists rarely surprise me.
Seldom favourably.



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