SALTY GREASY ARTIFICIAL CHICKENS

In the morning there were old men screeching at the teevee. The local team was doing something stellar. There was also rightwing ranting. In the afternoon elderly retired military men got blotto on expensive liquour and spouted foul language, obscenities, nonsense, and information I need not have heard. Throughout all of this someone whom I shall not name sucked on a stogie of 134 ring gauge, thirteen inches. Which looked like a horse's penis.
It took nearly seven hours to finish. He enjoyed it. Hungover, on an empty stomach.

There were actually two doctors on site.


There was no doctor on the bus back to the city, but perhaps there should have been. The customer in front either fell asleep or passed out from drugs and exhaustion. I could tell that his hands were swollen and oedematic, some of his knuckles showing bruises that indicated either bone breakage or severe contusion. I rather hope that he eventually got to where he was going, and if it was an emergency room that would be very good.


It has been hazy grey on recent mornings, bleak and cold both evenings.
Slate grey overcast days. The grumble time is upon us.
Temperature mid forties to fifties.

You know, I do not think that I could smoke a cigar of those dimensions (13 x 134). Anything bigger than a robusto loses my interest. Davidoff Gran Cru Robusto is, marginally, too much, given that it's slightly bigger than a standard robusto. A toro is right out.

My tastes are not extreme. Simple, at times simple minded. Tonight's dinner was a Korean made snack food. Just the right balance of greasy fried flavour and crunchy texture.
Artifcially flavoured. Brilliant.

Significantly more interesting than lunch had been.
Which was convenience store standard.
No thirty two ounce squishy.


The crunchy greasy stuff comes in a big bag. There's still plenty left. I have a sneaking suspicion that my apartment mate will have some for breakfast tomorrow.



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