HIDING MY WALLET

Sometime around mid-day, or a little later, I shall be sheltering under the awning of an empty storefront in Chinatown while smoking my pipe. Because it looks like the rain is coming back, as well as the miserable temperatures. What I would rather be doing is twiddling my toes indoors, warmly bundled up, maybe listening to the rain. Comfy. But I have errands to run, hence leaving the house relatively early, and I can't smoke in my apartment in the afternoons anyway, as any smells must fade.


There is a very suitable shuttered shop entrance with a deep awning right across the street from the hospital, but at that time it is not unlikely that either my doctor or other staff who might recognize me will be going to lunch or doing their own errands, and they needn't see me doing precisely what they've remonstrated against, so blatantly near where they work.
Nor do I wish to witness them lighting up.
Bad examples all-round.


[They are excellent people, and I do not wish to embarrass or offend.]


So I'll probably end up in front of the defunct jewelry store on Jackson, one block up from the chachanteng where I might have something to eat.

Either that, or near 'Bug Grass City', on the corner of Clay.
But away from all doorways to that building.
Not far from another chachanteng.


Chinatown can be very comforting. As a middle-aged white dude I am nearly anonymous, except for the people who actually recognize me, who seem to be rather fond of me and do not mind my foul habits, and recently when I showed up at a bakery all the regulars there (mostly older than me by a wide margin!) were warmly welcoming. They are used to my speaking Cantonese, but not really grasping their Toishanese, and I am a known quantity, a familiar face.

[And a few of them also smoke, so my smell is probably not objectionable]

They're an upbeat and lively bunch.
Very good for mental health.
Vibrant.


During this season, irrespective of how well sheltered outdoors, I still often would rather be under a throw rug on a couch, perhaps with a pot of tea nearby, inside. But this isn't Holland or England, and tea time and a comforting pipe must, necessarily, be somewhere else.
Even in inclement weather.

[Step outside, you foul specimen! You stink like granddad!]

Even young pipe smokers reek like granddad.
And that's a fact.



THE SHEEP. THE BLACK KITTY. THE MONKEY.

The apartment mate and some of the stuffed animals would object if it where otherwise. Possibly excepting three criminal furballs who wish to "borrow" my leathery thing and the plasticky thing inside to do a spot of shopping on the internet. Grass suckies. Salmon sashimi. And banana fandangoes. Plus a hovercraft for terrorizing the other creatures.
They will avidly search for my wallet while I sleep tonight.
And I have made sure that they will not find it.
My credit card is safely stashed.

The blue-faced sheep denies, by the way, that he is untrustworthy.
Grandpa Hamster still swats at him with his cane.
Because he smells totally skeevy.


Surely other people hide their credit card from their stuffed animals?


At least I do not smell skeevy.




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