CAN'T SMOKE INSIDE IN THE EVENING

When I went out for a smoke the fog had already veiled the buildings at the top of the hill, but it was not cold, not cold at all. Across the street I  saw Mr. Siu leaving, probably to move his car. He seldom comes out nowadays, there are weeks when I do not see him in front of his dwelling at all. This time last year during the long heat wave he was outside a lot. His brother had come from Macau, and they played mahjong nearly every evening. Which meant cigarettes! On the sidewalk, of course. Though I have also seen his wife taking a puff occasionally, as well as a female relative.

[No indoor smoking at the end of day, except maybe very late; my apartment mate is opposed to it. On my days off, Tuesday Wednesday and Friday, I wait till the apartment is empty before lighting up, or head out to the street with a cigarillo and a cup of coffee. 
On working days inevitably it's the street, bathrobe, cuppa.
It had rained this morning, very nice.]


NIGHT LIFE

The pretty Chinese girl who lives opposite returned from a day out with her boyfriend. He dropped her off, she lingered a bit talking to him, and because she was wearing shorts, I noticed, again, that she really has very lovely legs. Aesthetically pleasing. The darkness of the street helps my eyes, the sparse directional lighting paints a three dimensional effect.
I've never seen her in daytime.

The next door landlady was sweeping the late summer leaves into the gutter. Both the buildings on the left and on the right of where I live have Cantonese landlords who can regularly be seen engaged in such activities. Many of the apartment houses on this street have Chinese landlords. The only building which I know to be non-Chinese owned is a little further up hill.
That landlord is an older Italian man who smokes cigars.
Like the others, older San Francisco.

Lee's wife came down the block pushing the pram and walking the dog. She does that nearly every night when Lee is at work. When she saw me she stopped and we chatted. The kid is almost two now, the most dangerous age. Destructive, learning to talk, and very opinionated. The dog is quiet, and nobody knows if he even has an opinion.
The kid was asleep.



The white techno-dude across the street does not throw parties on Sunday night. That's what Friday and Saturday are for. One of his neighbors had a loud discussion with him the other evening, from his third floor apartment while techno-dude was having a cigarette break. Ten minutes that we all got to share, which ended with the music being finally turned down.
It's not that he's a selfish inconsiderate dillwad.
He just had not realized other people were bothered. He may have originally come from a small town out in the bush, where the cows and hogs were comforted by it, or the coyotes were kept at bay.
He honestly had no clue.
Millenial.



I usually have one or two cigarillos in the evening now. It collects my head.




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