And the day, filled with the expectation of rain, grey clouds, cool, low hanging, the river the color of a cold mountain stream, the anticipation of rain...
This morning - Beano, coffee, the usual suspects, read my book, love my book, Trout Fishing in America. It's a slim book, that and the title and the vague recognizance of the author the reasons I bought it. I hope one day I write a book this long. From here, drive to the flea market, the police have blocked off a block, 13th or 14th Ave, there's a "Parade" of sorts, a dozen cop-cars maintaining order while a couple of dozen veterans in uniform play the bagpipes to send off a colleague. Here I was complaining about the incompetence and uselessness of the police, but should I go to war I can expect they'll guard the pallbearers at my funeral with exceptional due diligence...
...dodge the traffic and the police out not-policing, to the flea market. Today's finds, a geologists hand-pick, new-ish, $25.00, a book by Hunter S., to the thrift shop, here, a camo-raincoat, by an authentic manufacturer, I am slowly by turns becoming that which I ridicule, and two pairs of fish inspired cufflinks, thank Richard Brautigan...the day now barely half over, not even half over, barely beginning, it's time for a nap...the rest will follow...