PERFECTLY GREEN

An advertisment poster on the wall of the bus said "bring your own imagination". Underneath it, a gentleman with five large suitcases, a history of run-ins with the po-lis which he shared with everyone, a preference for heterosexual, and a very rich inner life, reclined. Sir, please do not take that imagination recommendation to heart. We have heard enough.

His men-in-blue mis-haps had involved vehicles.
We were all on a vehicle with him.
I disembarked early.

Having been down to Chinatown to enjoy a pipe, I was on my way home. Chinatown is barely over six blocks away, but not a level distance; there is a hill in between.
And my legs are kind of crappy.

I never really regained the muscle I lost when my appendix exploded and had me fighting internal infections for a fortnight. But I'm working on it. Though not by climbing hills.

I am not quite as thin as I was then.
There has been progress.

Part of smoking a pipe in public in SF is fading into the background, so that sensitive people do not have a fit. I think I've perfected that. Enjoyed a full bowl downtown around tea-time without any one complaining or screaming at the offense.

While walking down Washington Street I enjoyed the liveliness of a little tyke going home with her grandma. Cheerful and happy, and being escorted by someone she trusted and loved. She was very pretty because of that.

Waverly Place was peaceful at twilight; hardly any white people.
Only one loony. A harmless fellow I've seen before.
Two women speaking Toisanese.



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