UNSEEN THINGS

It's raining now. Slight rain, more apathy made moist than anything else. The predictions are one tenth of an inch or something like that. Nothing to pop the champagne over. Earlier when having a smoke after dinner it had started while I was spying on the rats in the park. It did not disturb me or them. The leaves overhead shielded me, the shrubbery in which they scurried about must have kept them dry. Droplets. Inconsequential. Not as cold as it was over the weekend, when upon arriving home I noticed that my apartment mate had already gone to bed. She claimed it was the cold that made her do that, I suspect that she simply likes the company of her stuffed creatures, who are rambunctious and sharp-tongued toward each other.

It is not cold enough at present to force me into my own bed. I too have stuffed creatures. Including Norman, a hedgehog. And various frogs, in addition to a skunk (Irmgard), a raccoon (Gunther), and Prendergast.


Lunch had been something listed on the white board: bitter melon and fish slices with sauce over rice stick noodles (苦瓜魚片濕河粉 'fu gwaa yü pin sap ho fan') which was absolutely delicious. The waitress was suprised that I ate fu gwa, which I can understand, as many white people and little children largely loathe it. It's one of my favourite vegetables.
Great with fish or fatty pork and chilipaste.

The bookseller and I passed by the karaoke joint and a street preacher on the way to the burger place. Bear in mind, no one listens to barkers or street preachers except ironically.
It takes a degree of utter goobusness to shout about crucifixion on a dark street at night when its raining. Perhaps he lost a bet? Maybe his homies were taping him?

Hello to Tat Yee at the bar, where he had been for several hours already. Two cups of hot tea, one while the bookseller had Guiness, one during his shot of Jameson. Curling on teevee, for which the sportscommentators ideally should be The Swedish Chef and Groundskeeper Willy. I would follow it avidly throughout the year if that were so.
Everyone would. So it needs to happen.


There was a young lady sitting much further back in the bus with that type of ivory skin Northerners often have. From that distance I could not tell whether she had pouty lips or kissy cheeks. Probably not, because there wasn't a cluster of men melting around her. But the skin hue was clear and obvious, and quite interesting. I do not think that the bookseller noticed. If he had, I would have reminded him of Ayumu Kasuga (春日歩 'chuen yat pou') from Azumanga Daioh, called 'miss Osaka' by Chiyo Mihama.
Seen below smoking some Rattray's Marlin Flake.

At least, I assume she enjoyes Marlin Flake. Or possibly Capstan. Which means that the handsome Charatan pipe she is holding has to be pre-Lane, because the later Charatans were all so darn large. Much too extroverted, as if advertising a deficiency.

I have several Charatans that are of a sensible size.

One seldom (never) sees women smoking pipes in this city. I suspect that they do that in private so as not to startle the horses or the elderly. Discreet, diplomatic.



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