TOO MUCH LIGHT, OR TOO LITTLE

It's clean and warm, the new decor is restful to the eyes. It will probably catch on with the women. Pastries, milk tea, and a quiet street outside. I filled my pipe and left, lighting up on the sidewalk. After wandering down to my bank I headed over to Jackson Street. The new alternative dumpling place seems to be doing well, there were two or three occupied tables at the Shanghai restaurant, and the portico of the theatre was brightly lit despite not being open. I saw a number of Shanghainese old-timey gangster flicks there, shot in Hong Kong. Two golden ages.

Further down the street a white man out of his mind was staggering around with his pants down to his knees, buttocks showing, striking poses. I watched him warily. One should always keep an eye on crazy white people.

Fortunately he didn't venture into any of the restaurants. The last thing they need is a white person even crazier than their normal clientele.

And dirtier.

The pipe smoked very well. A fine Virginia blend in an old briar. Perfect for half an hour on a frigid evening when no one should be staggering around with their ass cheeks visible.

Finished the bowl outside the old Bella Union Theatre (華都戲院). Which appears to be Self Help For The Elderly now, many of whom are already quite capable of keeping their pants up, so they're ahead of the game. We approve. All of us.

Self control, sanity, and muscle control. A lot to be said for that.

Raoul Sinropas did a lot to change the general atmosphere from Shanghaiesque to surreal. Fortunately he and his uncontrolled trousers had floated out of sight by then, and there were no further visual offenses.

The bus was crowded. Of course.
But pleasant mooded.



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