AVOIDING THE EVIL EYES

Normally I'd be heading out for the traditional cold sober pubcrawl right around now, but the bookseller and myself are not crazy, and it being Hallowe'en, we decided far better not. After the tykes, there are the weirdoes. And San Francisco does not lack for weirdoes. We are mature men. Past fifty. We don't need to be accosted by Little Bo Creep and sex droids.
Or assorted out-of-towners determined to get blotto.
Or start fights.

Earlier I had gone out for a cuppa, on the way to which there were tonnes of little kiddies being led around Chinatown by a parent or grandparent to shake down the merchants for candy. Many of the adorable little nimnoos were understandably confused about the whole thing. Dressing up? Fine. Superhero? Also fine. Especially the little girl dressed as batgirl.
And the little boy pretending to be super robot.
Accepting candy from strangers?

I thought we weren't supposed to do that?

They were all too young to have read the handout they had been sent home with for their parents explaining what the holiday is all about. The adults were, naturally, more into this.

Long walk after tea through the financial district, which nowadays is far emptier than it used to be, except for the parrots which have moved their base of operations from Sue Bierman to the trees lining Maritime Plaza. Less swooping room, more fluttering. But just as noisy.
They crave each others' attention.

They have thrived. It took them less time than the little Cantonese kiddies to go totally native, because having birdbrains, they don't over-think matters. Little Canto kiddiewinkies are taught to over-think and consider consequences from an early age.

Not like little Caucasoids, who are judgemental from birth.

Little Cantonese persons look at the man with a pipe with frank curiosity. Little white creatures have been taught to glare with distaste. Because smoking is bad!

Indulging in the bad habit took nearly twenty pleasant blocks.
Hardly any people, no melanin-poor kids.
No mean looks.



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