To hell with arachnophobia! Just let the spiders get married! The turkey vulture asked me with hope in his voice if I had brought back a corpse for him, and I introduced him to a bag of shortbread cookies which Neil had given me. "Made with real short people." Short buttery people.
It had been a long day. Mainly because I did not get enough sleep last night. When I got back to the city it was already foggy, and stepping out a short while ago I saw that the fog was thicker than before, shrouding the top of Nob Hill and obscuring the slope in the opposite direction. Colder too.
At one point in the afternoon Richard came in from the patio and said that the boys (middle aged men) out there with their cigars were discussing how "warm and fuzzy" I am. Which, if there is even an iota of truth in that report, just proves how utterly clueless they are.
Harrumph.
I am kind to stuffed animals. Including a turkey vulture.
And a charming blue eyed black spider.
That's basically it.
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