Monday, December 12, 2022


There is now a woman in Chinatown who knows, KNOWS, that I have son with a little girl, a granddaughter. Because of what I bought in her business, and the ensuing conversation.
This being an easier explanation than that I was purchasing something for my apartment mate's birthday, and that both of us like certain childish things.

Elsewhere I also bought a colourful Christmas card for the turkey vulture who shares our apartment, who is somewhat hesitant about moving to the salt flats to join all the other turkey vultures -- he is their long lost prince -- because he's heard from reliable sources that they'll rough him up a bit, steal his lunch money, and tear his pretty Christmas card to pieces and share it among themselves. It's HIS card! His! So pretty!

Actually having a card will, we hope, reinforce his resolve in the other direction. We feel sure the other turkey vultures will consider him a candy-ass, totally unsuited to the rough Marlboro-man life style of carrion eaters in the wild. He's basically a city dude.
And barely a foot tall. Quite immature, a child still.
With a very rich inner life.
Still young.
Per a tradition of a few years standing, I get her another stuffed critter at this time of year. So that she adds one more voice to her repertoire of mouthy alternates.
The illustration above is a hypothetical.
Doesn't actually exist.

Had tea afterwards at a nearby place. Old codgers, plus an Indian and his grandkids, and a little girl and her mommy who ordered 焗番茄豬扒飯 ('guk fan ke chyu-baa faan'; baked tomto porkchop rice). Because little children after school must be fed. The waitress recognizes me by know, and knows that I'm having hot milk tea and something.

I am NOT a grandpa! I just look like one.

It's cold today. Something bunged into the microwave at a bakery hits the spot.
And clearly I am not the only one who thinks so.

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