THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

Every day that Donald Trump isn't in a maximum security prison and Ron De Santis has not been face-pied displeases me. Not particularly greatly, as I am quite used to the regrettable American political shenanigans by now, and understand that I'm sharing this country with a whole passel of iggerunt sh** for brains banjo music loving dingos, but still. It's grating.

More immediately upsetting is the temperature outside. Fifty degrees!
When I was younger it wasn't so cold, dammit.
Expect an angry letter.

What is the world coming to when a man living in California is freezing his ears off in May? That jogger who nearly crashed into me while I was smoking the first pipe of the day was probably down on his physical coordination skills because of frostbite, which affects locomotion and judgement as the brain goes into shut-down.

At least the gentleman walking his poo-factory was dressed for the weather.
Probably wearing four layers of clothing. One of them thermal.

That first pipe would have been a lot more enjoyable sitting inside with the second cup of a warm stimulating beverage, tell you what.



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