SUDDEN TORRENTIAL RAIN

Let's just say that lunch was educational. The mixed grill at a chachanteng, served on a hot iron plate, with fries and rice. A veritable mountain of meat. Not exceptionally good meat, but definitely meat. Plus onions. And thick cut French fries. Too much for a smallish appetited man to consume, so the pork chops came home with me. They'll work fine recooked with chilies and stalky mustard greens.

This may have contributed to my moodiness. I need to eat lightly to maintain my normal sunny disposition; a strained digestive system often leads to emotional vertigo.

Which meant that I was more sour over modern mankind than usual.
Although maintaining a facade of bonhomie toward everyone.
Not a shred of misanthropic tendencies evident.
Quite the perfect gentleman.

Three teabags and a caffeinated beverage during the pub crawl were of enormous benefit, however. By the time the bookseller and myself left the burger joint, it was raining, which it continued to do while were at the beat dive indulging in Guiness and tea, as well as at the karaoke bar sipping Jameson and tea. He's back from the East Coast, had a good vacation there, and came back anxious to hear young thugs slaughtering Bohemian Rapsody. Bismillah. Freddie Mercury is rolling over somewhere.

The picture of Spofford Alley above is how it looked in early October. At night at the end of November it looks recognizably similar, but the daylight at this time of year is more gloomy.

At the far end is where the mahjong parlours heap their garbage bags on Tuesday nights for the services to pick up. There are no kitchens in the gaming environments, everything is to-go, so the food containers and cardboard plates, as well as fried food leftovers, are a feast for the rats. A few of which were evident this evening.


Despite the promising title of this essay, the rain was not at all torrential. Scant, but steady. Enough to wet the pavement. Not anywhere near enough to overtax the drains or gutters. Had it started a bit earlier, it would have kept the bad singers indoors at home, instead of indoors in the karaoke place. Like, at least two hours earlier.

Modern twenty-somethings are scared of rain.
They haven't experienced hardship.
Their tattoos might run.
Or the hair-dye.



It's still raining.
Quite lovely.




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