Tuesday, April 21, 2015


Ross Alley is one of the most-visited areas of Chinatown. Reason being that it is non-threatening -- no obvious signs of cannibalism, white slavery, daemon rum, and drug addiction -- and contains, in addition to a Christian mission to the heathens, also a fortune cookie factory, a picturesque old geezer, a learning annex, and a trinket shop.

And a smallish pale purple brassiere.
Which reflects impeccable taste.
Slightly padded for comfort.
Discreet lace edging.

Given this data, it should not surprise you at all that there are often tourists present. They're timorous beasties, and quiveringly follow the dictats of their tourguides, without whom they would be lost.

Ross. Easy word. Tourists.

But the smallish brassiere is an anomaly. It is by no means a permanent and admirable fixture, alas. It fluttered down from on high while I was strolling through the alleyway. I would have picked it up and possibly rushed off with it, but there were tourists there.

Consequently my only connection with the tasteful pale purple garment is that I keenly feel for the woman from whose window it fell. There were other items still hanging there, to air-dry while their owner is at work, but they were too far up to accurately identify. Although one of them may have been a pair of light blue panties.

It may have been her favourite bra. Such things are precious.
People of both genders are often very attached to one.
And, if it's comfortable and well-designed.....
A profound loss! Worth lamenting!

I can intensely imagine her heart-ache when she comes home and finds it missing. If I ever meet her, I should gladly buy her a replacement.
I feel that it would be a gallant thing to do.

An ice-breaker, in any case.

I wish I could say more about the bra, perhaps creatively speculating about the person who used to wear it, her home life and personality as suggested by the garment, but I only saw it briefly. One does not wish to be noticed staring at a woman's bra, you see, and although I looked back quickly several times to ascertain that it was still there, those were only fleeting glimpses, from progressively greater distances. So, other than hue, padding, shape and curvature, plus the discreet lace edging (white), there is not much I can report. Couldn't even speculate about the proportion of cotton versus synthetic fabric.

'Tis a sad, sad loss.

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


Scheißmann said...

Cannibalism?! There's cannibalism in other SF neighborhoods?

e-kvetcher said...

A little Heino will fix everything...

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