THE TURKEYS

When I got home from a jaunt with The Pipe For Watching Rats In Spofford Alley last night, mr. Siu was walking the pooch on the other side of the street. That dog keeps him young. He'd have no incentive to step beyond the portico of his building otherwise in these times.
I myself do not need a dog for that purpose, as I enjoy seeing people and interacting with them in a limited way, as well as dodging the ambulatory bipedal disease-carriers whose natural immunity is, apparently, superhuman. It's a form of Russian Roulette.

Inside Chinatown most residents don't put their trust in superhuman immunity. Probably for the same reason that faith-healers and glib TV preachers don't have much of a following there.

Outside Chinatown, it's a crapshoot. Many people are idiots.
No masks. No social distancing. No brains.

The holiday season should be great for the rental market in San Francisco, as a number of residents won't be coming back from visiting their kin for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
ICUs in the flyovers; a festive destination.
And good riddance.

After twenty months of life in pandemic America, I have NO faith in Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michichigan, Missouri, Mississippi, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.


Fortunately I have no close kin in that part of the world, so it's totally okay if societal collapse happens there in between and after their roast turkeys. Racists, religious bigots, and rightwing blowtards. Or, as a friend who fled to Israel years ago calls them: The Real America.



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