WADING THROUGH CHEST-HIGH ICE CUBES

Last night after three, while we were trekking homeward across the wilds of Pacific Street, it was around fifty degrees with a bitter wind. The bookseller told me it would affect me less if I embraced the wind, became one with it.
Perhaps struggled to understand where the wind was coming from.
Which is more Californian than I can ever be.
Hump the buggery wind.

I'm sure the wind embraces dolphins, just like the pot industry.
Which is another thing I fervently dislike.

Sheer misery. A struggle of near-epic proportions. At three o'clock plus in the morning, San Francisco can be a bitch on the hills.


It took me over ten minutes to warm up once I got home. Good thing there was no spry female in my bed waiting for me, as she would have jumped up screaming and swearing once I slid my cold limbs in beside her.


Slim consolation.




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