Ahhhh, yes. “Hello world!” indeed.
Sitting here with a Throwout #59 cigar (rumored to be an Arturo Fuente)…a coffee cup emblazoned with a drawing of Downtown Pittsburgh and mostly full with a mix of Starbucks Dark Anniversary Blend and Gevalia Colombian…it’s about 77, less than 10 percent humidity and the middle of September. The sky is big and blue, just like the one China Crisis describes. And, save for the sound of overhead jet planes traversing their flight paths, it is quiet here.
Historically, another favorite place to write was the Home Plate Bar in Tucson, AZ. Late in the evenings of many nights I sat in a booth with a tall 7&7 and smoked cigars and wrote much of James Anonymous. That was almost ten years ago. Towards the end I had to sit outside at a table to do all of those things, because they stopped allowing you to smoke cigars or anything else indoors.
Nearby, inside batting cages, contestants whose vision and judgement was suffering in varying degrees of impairment from the consumption of alcohol would seek to hit baseballs with aluminum bats. These baseballs were hurled directly at them at speeds approaching 100 miles an hour. This activity has always amused me, although when I was much younger I must confess that I participated in it as well. Perhaps mobile batting cages should be constructed, and police should gauge a stopped suspect’s ability to properly and safely operate a motor vehicle by seeing how well they can hit a Nolan Ryan fastball, or a hanging curve.
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