COLDER AT TWILIGHT

The last jaunt with a pipe was at twilight, when the temperature had gone down considerably. With my circulation, considerably really means three degrees or more. Fifty six Fahrenheit is bearable. Fifty two feels frigid. Anything less than fifty and I shall hesitate to venture out.
So it was probably a good thing that it was a short bowl.

Four layers under my coat. It still felt horrible.

But the sky was several lovely hues.

Spring is still distant.


Dinner had been stirfried rice stick with juicy meat bits and asparagus, touches of stinky shrimp paste and chili sauce. Plus ginger. Cantonese in inspiration (蝦醬肉筍炒米粉 'haa jeung yiuk seun caau mai fan') but not necessarily execution.
Followed by a cup of strong milk tea.
Then a smoke.

Because of the chill breeze I did not wander particularly far. No inclination to stray any further than necessary. Also, what with it being Saint Patrick's Day, I did not wish to be misidentified as a cute Irish elf or leprechaun. I am not particularly tall, and seeing me with a pipe does goofy things to drunks.

There are too many bars catering to wanna-be-Irishes in this city.
Not nearly enough places wich offer a cup of good tea.
And shrubberies are quite unavailable.
What sad times are these!


Dang it's cold.



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