Dear J-

Dude just walked by on the platform, reeking of pot; I suppose it’s not such a big deal, as they tell me — gateway drug or not, it’s part of the culture here, almost: when Caltrain tweets out that there’s policemen on the platform so please, let’s not be so obvious about smoking it, thanks — then you know it’s pretty well embedded here. In San Diego, which was curiously straight-laced and stiff collar, much as you might expect say your granmere to be, you’d get the sort of stoner crowd in the funky beach neighborhoods, but out where we were it was … well, according to Cul de Sac we were riddled by meth.

I suppose we live a fairly sheltered life; I’m sure these are issues everywhere you go but we’ve never had an issue with it where we were, where we are. That’s a phrase that calls for knocking on wood; it’s just like yesterday, when the day care director said we were having earthquake weather — unseasonably warm and calm. There’s nothing to that, of course, save what you read into it; whether you believe in superstitions and omens, if the entrails of sacrifices provide endless portents and readings, well then I’m not going to be able to help much. Something about the guy this morning, though; perhaps I’ll have better luck in separating out costs I didn’t know needed to come out, or to make certain readings clear.

I wonder if I could rig up some sort of folding platform for the bike instead of having to carry donuts in my hand, but that’s a light use scenario and not worth the effort, right? What would you do with … all the time you have now? All the time you think you might have later? We walk around with frivolous use scenarios running through our heads, believing in ourselves and our best intentions, right?



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