TIME FOR CHUFFING!

It gets dark so early nowadays. When I left for the bus it was already pitchblack. But not raining. An hour earlier looking west from the front door had been rather nice. Gold in the distant sky, a trace of smoke smell from either someone's fireplace or the tire fires of bum encampments, perhaps a Tesla by the side of the road experiencing moment -- it's Marin country, so pricey neurotic yuppie vehicles also go all feelings and meaningful there, even spiritual -- perhaps it might have been the candle circles at the local yoga and ayahuasca plantation where the enslaved illegals work.

Actually, more likely the cigar from one of the drunken layabouts in the backroom.
Most of whom where deeply unhappy at the loss of the Forty Niners.
When the local team loses, it's because of their flaws.
Lack of faith, loose morals, etcetera.
And inferior whisky.


I didn't watch the game, and spent the entire afternoon swilling tea.
So I was both cold sober and wired to the tits.
Caffeine, baby.

There's a new holiday themed sandwich at 7 Eleven. Which is quite as thrilling and fulfilling as the football game. Because so little there is actually edible, this pleases me enormously.
Oh golly yes! Yowza. Um.

On the other hand, I now have a Comoy Tradition pipe, bent bulldog shape 409, courtesy of a friend, which is absolutely gorgoeous. Three part C, and I'm guessing made sometime in the fifties, early sixties at the latest. If mentally you hear a frog-like voice going 'neener neener neener' while hopping up and down, that would be appropriate.

I am totally chuffed.



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