Wednesday, March 18, 2020


Normally, at tea time on a day when I'm not working, I will enjoy a hot cuppa down in Chinatown with a pastry. Normally. But Chinatown is quiet, nearly empty, and those places that are open mostly have signs saying they're doing pick-ups only. There are very few people about, there is no hubbub. So after getting my medicine refills at the pharmacy I came back home.
Not being a social person, I'm doing better than most.
The bartenders I know are going stir-crazy.
Judging from Facebook posts.

The refills weren't ready yesterday. So I happily got on the bus down to C'town, and had a smoke before heading towards the pharmacy. Again.]

My apartment mate is back at work; her job is vital for the proper functioning of society. Or at least her department, where important papers are in bins awaiting proper categorization and filing. As part of keeping track of sick people. Many of her colleagues are working from home, and like most rational people she can get more done when "they" aren't around.

So then. Pipe in mouth, aged tobacco at a slow burn, pot of fragrant muck on stove to provide a covering miasma when she returns.
That way she'll never know that I smoked.

Insane people are talking to themselves on Polk Street, more noticeable because of the stillness. Same to a lesser extent in Chinatown. They will soon go stir-crazy on the street, and eventually funnel into the hospitals. The rest of us can go stir-crazy indoors, and start clawing at our walls. Eventually someone will organize an orgy or something to relieve the tedium, and unsafe social distancing will ensue.

My apartment mate will be at work, getting a lot done.
I'll be at home, smoking my pipe.

The pipe is a Peterson Kapet from the fifties. The tobacco is three different Virginias and a minor touch of Perique. Sweet, and not too strong.
A very tobacco-like pipe tobacco.

A cup of tea is within reach.
Helicopter overhead.


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