Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Thursday, December 18, 2003

I'm going to lunch now and you can't stop me!!

Everyone at Sneaky Pete's says hey. Small crowd today, although Bicycle Riding Man came in. I don't think I've ever seen him stop in anywhere to eat before. I'm just glad he had on his winter clothing. Nine months out of the year, he usually has on some kind of tank top, and tiny little shorts covering his massive legs.

He also has a rather large assortment of beads and necklaces and knit caps and baubles and trinkets on his body, neck, and tied into his hair.

And festooning his bike.

Thankfully, he's not loud like Screaming Guy, but he rides like a man possessed and usually up on the sidewalk instead of on the street, and in the summer he gets all sweaty and slick and he comes whizzing by and you really hope he doesn't get funky sweat all over you. Winter is better--his sweaty parts are all covered up. And the beads and jewelry are more appropriate to the holiday season.

Anyway, he got a hotdog.

The ladies behind the counter where cutting up with each other and picking on one in particular--the tall lady with the square jaw and high cheekbones and hair pulled straight back into a long braid--who feigned deep emotional hurt from their taunts. They're all a fun bunch, and everyone who comes in is "hon" or "sugar".

I told her not to listen to all that mess, and she pouted and half-yelled over her shoulder that they were just all a jealous bunch of old hens. They got a big kick out of that. We swapped Merry Christmases and money and I got my load of artery-clogging foodstuffs and now, it's time to get some work done this afternoon!

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