IT'S SO BRIGHT

Had an eye-doctor's appointment this morning. My pupils got dilated. For the next three hours I stayed in the shadows with my eyes narrowed. Which did not stop a voluble Filipina from asking me supportive and concerned questions about my walking stick and assuming an arthritic knee. What I did not explain was that the stick is good for two things: 1) It keeps people away from me on the bus and gets me a seat if I need it, and 2) a stick is very useful if you need to beat someone to death. Which is an almost daily concern in a big urban conglomeration with lots of crazy people.

Surely you too can think of occasions, many occasions, when beating someone to death would benefit everyone?


And, pursuant that idea, there are too many whacked-out psychos waking up in Portsmouth Square in the morning. The problem with that is that it's a place for children and old people. Not a padded cell. Not somewhere that berserk nonfunctionals are a comforting presence. This ain't Oakland.


So there I am, eyes down to blinky slits, being wary about unpredictably ambulating weirdoes in the middle distance, vocalizing. They glow, they glow!

Remember, pupils dilated.

When I finished my pipe I went to my bank, and then headed over to a nearby place for milk tea and a pastry, only to discover that they were closed. Another nearby place offers fancy coffee drinks, and regular milk tea at much more than I'm used to paying, and judging by their ambiance and drinks menu anyway, it's probably weak slop for teenagers, with the option of boba and squigglies.

A pissy Dutch American who is forced to be social at far too early an hour for that kind of thing does not need to blow his money on stupid experimentation with badly made neon drinks in an environment which looks far too clean and designer and brightly lit.


Dammit, everything is glowing.
I go home now.



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