OR MAYBE YOU ARE A HIPSTER

The first smoke of the day is accompanied by stumbling and dog poo. Not for me, as I am chipper and vibrant with hot strong coffee boiling through my tubes, but as a visual feast on the public street. Down near Polk the antisocials roam, either the ambulant wreckage of society or the young hipsters who do not wish to pick up after their hounds.

Stumbulant. A shiny portmonteau.

So all in all it's a darn good thing that little infants aren't walked for pooing purposes. I'll let your mind fill in the blanks as far as all the repulsive details. Which I'm sure it can.

No one walks their infant between five A.M. and six thirty. That's left to thoughtful types who wait for Rover to sniff, squat, and look satisfied, after which they bend over with a little olive green plastic baggie and make evidence of the act disappear.
Unless, of course, they're hipsters.

It's the sunglasses.

Having left the building and lit up shortly after seven, I was outside for that brief period when hipsters, street people barely awake, and young adults walking a child or dog overlapped.
So I headed in the opposite direction. See, fresh parents object to tobacco smoke (they're fine with poo and crazies), and the bums take one look at a man with a pipe sticking out of his mouth and automatically assume that not only am I a kindly avuncular sort, a vertitable blend of Santa and psycho-therapist, but surely I am a rich source of smokeables. Whether mojay or tobacco, they don't know. Let's importune and find out. My answer, both to tykes and bums, is 'no'. Might also give them a lecture about how it's bad for them but sooooooo delicious, back of the barn, when I was a teenager, the price these days my heavens but there is a greater and more exciting spectrum of choices oh my.


Talk to your doctor to find out if getting whacked out of your gourd on mojay and cheap dessert wines or malt liquor while living in doorways is right for you. It just might be.



You know, life is finite; it eventually draws to a close. As the light fades, you may well think that you should have had kids, done drugs, and wandered around with dark sunglasses on bumping into things and sleeping in doorways. My, a slice of pizza after two in the morning is yummy. Who am I to tell you? Just don't knock it till you've tried it, young man. Now pardon me while I walk hurriedly away to enjoy my pipe in peace and quiet. It's Rattray's Hal O'the Wynd this morning. A blend worthy of respect. I'm going for the gusto.



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