ALSO, NOT ENOUGH COFFEE

There were loud rumbles from Polk Street yesterday so I walked the other direction. It must be horrid for the residents above the businesses there to have drunks on the street outside at night; broken glass, arguments, loud discussions about the achievements of sportsteams. How fortunate they are that no tourists visit.
The tourist season is in full swing. None of the blighters wear masks.
And Europeans, as is well known, swill booze at every meal.
Americans of course are great alcoholics.
The South, the East Coast.
Drunk by noon.


It's better early in the morning. Fog. People pooing their dogs. The occasional stumbling home-comers, somnolent street people, and early risers. No one rioting over the stunning defeat of the Gumbies or the election victory of some notorious Christian redneck.
One or two silent people with donuts and coffee.

I've had my my first cup. I'm awake enough to step over canine faeces as well as the last belongings of people with a string of bad choices and worse luck.

Several things stand out remarkably when reflecting on the last walk with a pipe at night and the first walk of the new day. Firstly, the city is more beautiful early in the morning. Secondly, far less skeeviness is noticable. And lastly, my legs ache either way. I really should get the ball rolling on the peripheral angioplasty of the lower extremities. These dogs hurt.

Also, I don't like my fellow human beings very much.
That's probably a coffee deficiency.



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