As was to be expected I bailed out of the city early, and left the civilians to their own devices. Yes, conceivably cans of Raid were used, and umbrellas wielded, to keep the frenzied crowd of at bay.
A festive time was had by all.
Marin is actually kind of beautiful in the rain.
Long lines of traffic moving at a gravid pace, sheets coming down, grey fog over the hills behind Mill Valley, and only the rare stumbling drunk. Perfect weather for pipe-smoking indoors, while the world swirls slowly around the building. I had four bowls-full. With buckets of tea. While ignoring the cigar smokers, one of whom looks like an evil elf. There are also the foul-mouthed bad-tempered leprechaun, and the sexually deviant gnome (I'm just assuming his peculiarity, he just seems a ripe degenerate).
I am, as you expect, presently at home in the television room. There are sounds of revelry outside; the festivities are barely started, there is still an entire night of drunken outrage ahead. I passed two naked people and someone with red body paint and a gold Lamé bikini on the way in.
Polk Street is a venue for intemperate carryings-on.
I think in a short while I shall head out to a nice quiet cigar bar to enjoy a bowl or two and a glass of whiskey. Two bulldog pipes and a pouch of aged Virginia leaves.
Very sporty briars, though restrained and old-fashioned.
A thoughtful tobacco blend for civilized people.
One or two of whom might be present.
Unfortunately they don't know jack from tea there. Stale coffee, yes, and I have become quite the connoisseur of that beverage. But not a teapot on site. Which is not right; I'll have to speak to them about that.
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