First thing back in Cali I returned to the Pep Boys for a replacement
car cover but hesitated to install it although without one the rust will never sleep.
While pondering this on Saturday who should show up two doors down but Toolie Jerkoff [remember the reno that began over a year ago which was still going when we left in May? Still not done, apparently] with his two-tone “Supermacho” F-250 sporting more gratuitous chrome than a fire engine and his equally gratuitously loud compressor. Fortunately we had somewhere else to be, Inverness for instance. I hid the ’45 behind the gate and
out into the glare of the world we went, ending in a Fog at the Tomales Bay Resort.
This was followed by Jon Fernandez’ Historic Birthday party in the aftermath of which
we woke to soft airs, seawater smells, a continental breakfast
and still made it home by noon, where Toolie, for all that all day compressor noise we mostly
missed, seemed to have set about six not very straight fenceposts and was blessedly absent.
The week began, fine with me, with indictments to [minor] Trumpians and Weird Benicia Cars.
Trumpsters to the Dumpsters! Throw ’em under the bus; it’s the American Way
…at least as long as public transportation survives.
November; the day after Hallowe’en
a Borgy at the Yacht Club,
yachts in the channel