A tiny amount of garlic, a larger quantity of ginger. Rice wine, fresh mushrooms, spoonful of green curry paste.
So a slightly spicy gravy.
The turkey vulture made no comments about my hair.
Which was an exceedingly wise choice.
A smoke and strong tea afterwards, as you would expect.
Chinese ingredients. Thai flavours. Indian bread. Plus sambal.
Eaten with the fingers of the right hand from a steel thali.
Unfortunately I've run out of mango pickle.
Arabs often use a scrap of the bread that's eaten with the meal to dap the juices and gravies out of their moustaches, but Indians and Dutchmen are neater eaters. And usually not so bushily lip-furred.
Americans, as is well known, often have to thoroughly shampoo their beards and necks after eating.
No idea what they do in Texas.
The foggy weather is back again. After tea time the buildings upslope from Polk Street, in either direction, disappeared from sight, fading into white mist entirely in three blocks. A howling madman yelled at people that they shouldn't DARE boast about watching him whacking off, what were they, perverts? The passers-by ignored him as much as they could. The good thing is that the nuts rarely roll uphill. From my vantage point I could see him, but he was focused on the street level audience.
The temperature is below sixty outside, down significantly from one hundred Fahrenheit two days ago. But it's still a jungle out there.
Virginias. Pleasant in colder weather.
And a favourite briar pipe.
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