THE IMAGINARY PARACHUTE

There are times when I relish my marginal sociability. All I really want to do is sit by myself with a nice meal, maybe somebody who isn't overly pushy but has a good appetite, a cup of hot stimulating beverage, and a smoke in prospect for afterwards. Which partly explains why I have again stocked up on delightful and elegant Chinese cigarettes. Although in case that person wished to smoke a pipe I always have a sufficiency of tobacco and pipe cleaners with me, in addition to an extra pipe.

Naturally I am asuming a meat eater.

A young lady of post-gradute age and interesting interests who is utterly capable of ripping a porkchop limb from limb with gusto and aplomb. While not at all inclined to lecture me about meat-rights, miracle cures for whatever, or the horrible sinfulness of smoking which will see me consigned to the devil's ashtray for eternity.


My apartment mate is seated opposite me at this moment eating ice cream while on her computer. She tried a pipe once. After a puff or two I was on the ground getting kicked, because it was a horrible experience, never to be repeated. So she isn't a candidate.
The ideal candidate is, unfortunately, still an imaginary creature at this point.
Though based on the people whom I have known over the years.

The imaginary dining companion and my apartment mate share some similarities, though. You know the type. Wore glasses, sat in the back row, hated group projects, did all the reading and aced all the tests.

Obviously the negative reaction to a pipe is not what one wants.

In the neighborhood above there are no pretty little flowers, butterflies, and unicorns. My little pony does not live there. Maybe Madame Curie does, or Dorothy Hodgkin. I don't know.


I enjoyed my afternoon. I had observed an elderly Mandarin-speaking couple at another table while eating lunch, wondering where they were originally from. Judging by her accent possibly somewhere in the centre. He spoke without moving his lips. The bank was a fascinating interlude too. All aged people being exceptionally patient, except for the tetched old lady whose daughter parked her in an easy chair off to the side where she kept up a grouchily mumbling stream of consciousness.

At the lottery place the proprietess was her usual affable self while joshing one of the customers. Bought some veggies further down, and interesting potato chips at the provisioners. Happily browsed among the jewel-like cigarette packs elsewhere.


Home before the cold wind picked up.
Solitary tea time.
Nice.



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