The corner of one's eye is not a reliable source of information. Especially not when the fog is rolling in. And no, there is nothing actually wrong with my eyes. Well, except that I do need reading specs (which I've got), and in maybe eight to ten years I'll need cataract surgery, perhaps, and the left eye seems to have incipient glaucoma which may render it kind of useless at this rate in another twenty years or so. Anyhow, specs I've got, latanoprost eyedrops for the left one also, and I can surefire identify the Golden Gate bus.
From nearly four blocks away.
But at the end of a long day dealing with elderly morons the mind is a bit abstracted.
That's why I thought I saw a person from a National Geographic article.
Just sitting alone. Upstairs. Across the street.
At twilight. In an unlit apartment.
[The disconnect with reality of those aforementioned elderly morons is not catching. Don't worry.]
A photo from an article I haven't read in years.
Set in some far-off place.
Almost as good as seeing an unexpected taco truck, I think you'll agree.
Feminine elegance. You can tell she's wearing that thin lacy old-style upper garment favoured by women in certain tropical countries, as well that that is a pre-transition Barling she's smoking. Probably with a nice English mixture. Perhaps from Rattrays. Because, of course, a refined lady pipe smoker would prefer a civilized product over the noxious reek of aromatics favoured by Gandalf-Hobbit wannabees. Such as there will probably be another wave of after the new Lord Of The Rings television series has made many young basement dwellers borrow the movie series from the library and then play act their favourite parts by cosplaying with props such as cheap cheesy pearwood churchwarden pipes.
Made in Eastern Europe for precisely that demographic.
And naturally she has pipe cleaners.
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