MENTAL LAWNS

Dawn on Nob Hill is often not so much a burst of brightness from eastwards so much as a gradual shifting through successive shades of greeny grey blue, while in some trees birds twitter. A bus rolls past, interior lit, mostly empty. Before six o'clock there are few people about. In the utility passage of one building a bagman hunkers. Still asleep.
There is fresh air.

At this hour one can smoke on the street without anyone remarking that one is ruining their lungs and what about the children? Oh heartless beast! Yes, what about the children?
None of the precious little trolls are about.

Children and Karens are exceedingly rare before eight.
And more cautious when there are fewer witnesses.


The care and thoughtfulness required to pack and light a pipe mean that one has already had coffee, after enough sleep, to be a responsible human being, albeit not social. Quietness, and a sense of personal space. A thoughtful attitude, a chipper mood. Reflecting over last night's final pages before going to sleep much more than the workday ahead. Caesar's legions, as opposed to Marin's suburban dullards. Glittering breastplates and polished shields versus cargo pants and capris in solid pastels, and t-shirts advertising headbanger metal bands they last went to see in the nineties.

The world is just better at this hour. I haven't doomscrolled yet, nor been forced to nod and smile at people. The caffeine has started its journey through my cerebrum, aided by highly refined sugar and traces of nicotine, the only actual solids for the time being are Atorvastatin, Aspirin, Metoprolol, Losartan HCTZ, and Xarelto (Rivaroxaban). Plus B-complex, D3, and Magnesium. Yummy.

The pipe is a Hardcastle Royal Bruyere bent bulldog, the tobacco was the last of the Capstan from the open tin. Which last is becoming harder to buy locally, because there are far fewer tobacconists, far fewer pipesmokers. Stock might not be filled and reordered promptly, as cigars pay the rent and thus have precedence.

Besides, pipesmokers like myself complain about the prices.
As well as modernity, politics, and kids these days.
We wish everyone would get off our lawns.
Most of which are imaginary.


I haven't had a lawn since sometime in the last century.



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