A QUIET PLACE AT THE END OF AN ALLEY

Russell mentioned last week that the pavement in his alley was red and slimey. Red from the new year's firecrackers, slimey because the rain had gooified the scraps. This week it is still red and slimey. But considerably less so. Faintly speckled pink, here and there. And only slightly slimey. This is important because in rainy weather these shoes have a tendency to slip. So I walked there in a calm and unhurried manner, thinking with my feet.

Fortunately the area where I usually wait for the bookseller to get off work has an awning, which this time I shared with two sleepy street people. There were very few tourists about, and as Chinese people are often hideously opposed to getting wet because of the weather (unlike my own tribe, who because of the climate of Holland and Flanders regard sog, fust, and mildew as natural things), very few of the locals.

Chinese people also don't like what weather wetness does to how one smells. Dutch people don't mind a bit of a stink, it's natural. Cheese. Dried fish. Dark shag tobacco. Cowdung in nearby pastures. Hot tar. That kind of thing.

I may have added a little too much tobacco with a trailer slag perfume in it to my pouched blend recently. I could smell it when I unfolded the calfskin to load my pipe. Fortunately it doesn't spoil the smoke, and is, when burning, not an issue. The Virginias dominate.
When I open the pouch there is a faint whiff of degeneracy or perversion.

Being a refined man, I couldn't help noticing the smell.
I doubt that many other people would.
Faintly floral.

Tat yee was smoking his pipe right outside the bar once we got there, the drizzle having stopped. I couldn't smell what he was smoking in the new pipe with which he is very tickled. But I doubt he has gone beyond cheap drugstore blends. I had not seen him there several hours ago when I headed over to the place at the end of the alley for braised brisket over rice (牛腩飯 'ngau naam faan'). But I may have just missed him. He probably can't smoke in his digs, and so must go out regularly. And he likes to drink.

Chinatown is actually beautiful during rainy nights. Quiet and glowing.
Peaceful. Clean. Rather soothing to the senses.


Basketball on one screen, Anthony Bourdain on another.
Only four other people in the bar.
Murmering.



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