THERE'S A LID ON IT

It started raining right about when I intended to do my laundry, and has kept up ever since. Not rain rain. More thick drizzle. Enough to nix laundry plans. If this keeps up for another day or two mildew becomes a real possibility. There may be a break Friday, but it will sputter on for a while. It is highly likely that the weather kept the old gentlemen who drop by the bakery in check, as none of them showed up. But there where three familiar faces there, and we wished each other a happy new year.

This weather may also subdue the celebrations tonight. Especially the crowds expected in the usual places, like the Embarcadero, Union Square, and the intersection of Grant, Columbus, and Broadway.

After lunch I purchased a box of chocolates to bribe the stuffed turkey vulture, who when he isn't fed starts growling and importuning about fatty inner thighs. I do not know where he got the term from, possibly a manga he (we) read years ago. It's disturbing, just like his recipe for soup, and his considering imaginary little girl hamsters (one little girl) that visit the apartment during afternoons as potential meatballs. Turkey vultures do not normally have access to meatballs, what with not being Italian or Mexican. Or Swedish.

No, I shall not introduce him to the Dutch gehaktbal. That would simply spur on more evil. We don't need that in this apartment. Please imagine a saintly Dutch American calmly putting up with all manner of misbehaviour and insurrectionary activities while sipping a refreshing cup of tea and contemplating navels in the abstract. We're good at that.

蓋碗

If more people enjoyed caffeinated beverages (instead of acid, adderal, adrenochrome, and cocaine snorted off gold toilet cistern lids in the White House) this country would be a calmer and more peaceful place. Less grifting, fewer murders. Problem is that most Americans look to tacky celebrities for examples, rather than sober quiet people like myself.


You are all vulgar, uncivilized, and going to hell.
Happy New Year. Enjoy the rain.
Good night.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================