TRIPLE TEA BAG WHAMMY

There is something in town that includes men with tight pants, like the stretch-o-fabric still current for fashionable male clothing in awful primitive parts of the world like Kansas and fictional European countries, as well as a number of large fleshy women. Whatever it is, it necessitates country Western music. As well as a detour on the bus back to my street because of an event on Nob Hill. I don't know. Dress like the seventies?
Refugees from disco? A romantic night in Poughkeepsie?

While waiting for my friend to get off work I was treated to unharmonious caterwauling and the sounds of souls in torment from a block away. Other than that, and except for passing flocks of visitors, it was peaceful.

You know, groups of Caucasians can be quite noisy. Just like their ambulation takes up all the space on the sidewalk, their happy chatter and ruckus expands to fill all the silence.

Coffee before I left the house. Caffeinated beverage at the burger joint. Two teabags at the bar. And another teabag at the karaoke place. Wired to the tits about halfway through.

And probably not as good-natured as I usually am.

AN EVEN TEMPERED MAN

I tend to disapprove of kwailo in C'town at night. They are disruptive, and shatter the peace. My friend and I are quiet men, and not given to loud boister.


Both 'Sweet Caroline' and 'I believe I can fly' qualify as crimes against humanity.
The singing improved once a Chinese person got the microphone.
Albeit not by much.


Afterwards we walked to the bus stop enjoying the night.
As well as the blessed absence of fraternity boys.

We are both even tempered men.
Equitable.



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