This letter will be better if is savored within the next four weeks. Its expiration date is four weeks from today. After that, it will be moldy and stale.
You should buy today’s Wall Street Journal and turn to page A15. There is an excellent article by Philip Wegmann. It is about how he commutes to work on a 1977 Honda Express. I know exactly what he is talking about.
Ed, my neighbor, and I were talking about his crummy motor scooter. Somebody tried to steal it last night. It was parked in his front yard. Ed has security cameras. The stray cats set them off constantly. I have other things to do than watch video footage of cats. I am not my neighbor.
My Vespa, which Ed denigrates as an inferior motor scooter, was parked on the sidewalk in front of my house, on its center stand, for all to see and sit on. Nobody tried to steal my Vespa. They never do. It is not because my 20-year old, low-mileage Vespa is inferior to Ed’s and thieves do not want it.
It is because I am Mr. King.
I just came from the No Name Club. I told them to leave Ed’s motor scooter alone. I do not know every lowlife in New Olreans but I know enough of them that word should get around.
As a pillar of the community, I have pull within about a two mile radius of my house. Less so outside my jurisdiction but I tend to make my wishes felt, even if I do not always implement them directly.
Just as I never mind people taking care of niggling details that need not interest me, neither do I mind other people taking care of things that they can do better. I cannot visit New Orleans to every gang den to tell them to stop messing with Ed’s motor scooter. The No Name Club should take care of this so that I do not have to listen to Ed tell me how is scooter is a theft target.
Not that it matters. Ed tells me is going hipster. He is going to buy an electric bicycle.
There is no way I am driving an electric bicycle to points outside New Orleans. Truth be told, there is no way I am going to drive an electric bicycle, period. I have my foibles but I am not a dope. I rarely travel far, but, when I do, I need range.
I am watching two young lovers pitch woo to each other. I do not think he is playing catch-and-release. I am not sure I can discern how she feels. Women are a mystery to me.
From my perspective, their attempts at impressing each other are as laughable as I know they are necessary. I have long bowed out of the mating game. I am married to Mrs. King. I could not be Mr. King without Mrs. King. I am resting on my laurels. Once a person has the best, there is no temptation to try the rest.
Would you like to hear about some collard greens I had for lunch? You should become a paid subscriber.