Monday, March 21, 2022


If you've noticed the number of times I've mentioned cigar smokers recently, there is a reason for that; I have no wish to see them naked. I've seen several of them wearing shorts during warm weather, one of them in a kilt, and years ago there was a dessicated old fossil who would soak up rays while wearing a speedo and smoking a churchill on the lawn.
This week promises to be unseasonably warm.
I am filled with dread.

In that vein, pipesmokers dressed less aren't something I want to drink in either.

Thank heavens I haven't seen full frontal nudity in years, considering the people I know.
Only one or two of whom are likely presentable in the buff.

Wait, that's not quite true. I have seen a loony man near a public park naked.

Like a typical male I have a mental picture of the ideal nude, about which I need not go into any great detail as she is not particularly unusual. Pleasing proportions, nothing excessive.
Perhaps holding a book.

This evening on the way home from a smoke I found two volumes by Charles Dickens on top of a trash bin. Paperback, but clean and in very good condition. So I adopted them.

If someone wished to hold them, that would be splendid.
They're good literature. Comforting to grasp.
And thick too. Which is useful.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

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