GAILY PAINTED NAKED TOURISTS

This post is primarily influenced by my having flu-like symptoms, and feeling rather physically beastly. Secondarily by the horrid weather we're having.
Getting home from the bus stop, with this frigid wind? An adventure!

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I like the place. I like the owner, even though she does not know I patronize her second establishment (she sees me not at all infrequently at the first), and also two of the waitresses. The third waitress is young, sweet, fresh-faced, and comes across as somewhat of an idiot. Because I am not an old man desperate for a pretty girl's smile, I almost never deal with her.
Well I am, but flibbertigibbets do not appeal to me.
And she's rather ineffective.

The pork chops were mediocre, the curry sauce give me a stomach ache, and all things considered I've had far better lunches in Chinatown. Including curry porkchops and rice. At some of the other chachantengs.
The last meal I had there gave me an episode.
I thought I was dying at the time.
That, or a seafood allergy.


咖哩豬扒飯

Still. Definitely going to eat something there again. Because I like the place. As well as the owner. And two of the waitresses. The kitchen, not so much. The milk tea is excellent, as is the people watching.

The weather had a lot to do with how nasty I felt afterwards. My joints seize up when a frigid wind is blowing, and I damned well cannot understand the idiots going around in tee-shirts and short sleeves. Must be all the tattoos keeping them warm.


If they're ever caught in a snowstorm, they can burn the tattoos to stay alive.


My plan to have an enjoyable pipe smoke in Chinatown followed by another cup of Hong Kong milk tea at another place had to be abridged. I stumbled painfully along Grant Avenue to the bus-stop, and took the next one home.
Finished that first pipe on my front steps.



The real problem with cold weather is all the exhibitionists.
There are NO accidentally visible breastesses.
San Francisco is miserable.





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