THE USUAL PERAMBULANCE

There were two gentlemen sleeping rough on Grant Avenue past the small dry goods shop where I sometimes buy State Express 555 after visiting my doctor, and two fellows who look even worse for wear in the ally of the beer place. While I smoked my pipe in the time before the bookseller arrived a disconnected person asked me if the tobacco shop was further up. Well, there's the cigar store back where you just came from -- it used to be fondly known as the DBS (Dirty Book Store) but they changed hands years ago -- but he didn't want to go there, and proceeded southward. Twenty minutes later he passed by again.
Probably still without smokes.

Yeah um. There are almost no late night liquour stores near Chinese neighborhoods. Not enough raving alcoholics. You really want a Caucasian community for that. Sorry, dude.

Wind. Fog. Cold tourists.

A drunken couple.

Not Chinese.

We actually got into the karaoke joint this evening. It was nearly empty. There wasn't anyone singing John Denver or The Eagles (I hate the Eagles, man), and though Tat Yee did assay a Cantonese air, the volume was not painful. This was after something by Abba had come on.
Abba are the Eury equivalent of The Eagles.

It got a little more crowded after that (two well-brought up middle-aged Chinese women ordered Shirley Temples), and the bookseller and myself headed out.

While at miss Vivien's, I used one of my pipe cleaners on my cigarette holder, and realized that the main advantage of both a pipe and a cigarette holder is that you can see what you are setting fire to. That's probably why short pipes don't work for me (in addition to looking too hobbit-like).

Currently shoving GLP's Ellipsis into my pipes. It's perfect for foggy evenings. I might actually go out again later to enjoy the effect of streetlights in the mist, but probably not. I expect that may be what I will be smoking after my bladder wakes me at the usual hour.
It will still be dark and foggy then.


Picking up some refills and having lunch in Chinatown tomorrow.
Looking forward to it. Lunch, that is.



By the way: one of the sewers underneath Spofford is plugged up, and the pavement is slick after the third mahjong parlour on the right. So step gingerly.



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