GREAT IMPROVEMENTS IN THE CONTINUUM

The normal routine is that I smoke my pipe while waiting for the bookseller to get off work, while scoping out the rodent life and dodging crazies. The rats were not about this evening; possibly their mommies kept them indoors because of the heat, like my own mother did the first time the outside temperature hit eighty when we lived in the Netherlands. She didn't want us to get heatstroke. Having spent a significant part of her life in San Francisco, she knew that eighty degrees was dangerous, and that's why civilization ended when you got to San Bruno. Everything further south was a desert inhabited by John Steinbeck characters. How ironic that she married a man from Los Angeles (actually Beverly Hills), and consequently lived down there among the savages for several years before we got out.
And moved to a temperate climate, where it also rained.

So, no rats in evidence. Likely in their bolt holes passing a pale hairless paw over what passes for their forehead, sqeaking languorously about the heat, Mabel, it's just so hot!
Pass me another icecube from that stash of rancid leftovers!


Back when Spofford was being beautified to pristine condition by the city it was a deep trench with plank walkways, and the rats thrived enormously. Once they realized that you meant no harm, you were just standing there at night observing them and smoking, they would pass within inches as they busily cleared up the garbage at either end of the alley, performing their civic duty with brio and enthusiasm, like miners at the rock face.
It was quite fascinating. Enchanting even.

There are far fewer of them now. Very likely the city realized that the very real possibility of bubonic plague would be bad for business. Especially in one of the most densely populated parts of the city. So they baited the area with rat poison, and by doing so quite likely killed everything else too. Cats, dogs, raccoons, pigeons, and anything smaller than a child.

The alley looks much more picturesque now. Very tourist-appropriate.
It's been filled in and repaved, with informative signs.
Occassionally crazies sleep there.

The best pipe tobacco for a night-time jaunt in Chinatown is something with plenty of age. Mature Virginia. It makes the night seem quieter, and the local wildlife doesn't seem to mind. Down on Grant sometimes one of the locals might recognize me and nod a friendly greeting, once or twice a completely insane person will stumble past, perhaps mumbling or waving a little wand like a refugee from Hogwarts.


The heat of the day had lessened considerably by the time the bookseller arrived. The burger joint was fairly crowded, the beer place still had some room, and the Karaoke bar had filled up with yutzes by the time we got there, so we went elsewhere.

A pity. I miss the dulcet tones of marketing department types belting out Hotel California or Sweet Caroline. It confirms my "faith" in human beings. Once I've finished filing my reports, the ship will come to pick me up and we're bombing this planet out of existence to make a hyperspace express route ('intergalactic bypass'). There wil be space-scaping.
So this solar system will look a lot cleaner.
Picturesque. Photogenic.
Colourful.



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