Waiting at a café for my friend Dee from publishing days to arrive this Saturday morning. I got this bronze bunny-friends candlesticks-holder, below, for her, from the thrift store of course, for Easter.
(I set it on my coffee cup to get height for my laptop camera--I still only have a flip phone. I miss the iPhone camera, but otherwise am much saner without the Internet on my hip.)
The café is around the corner from my cat-sitting house--another friend says it reminds him of Palo Alto.
There's nothing at all like it near the thrift store, that's for sure.
Yesterday after work, I was sitting on the bus-stop bench with Mr Linens, and he started counting his cash money.
"Don't count your money in public!" I said.
He--from the roughside of Chicago--said, "Don't tell me what to do, woman!"
"Yeah, yeah," I said, "but this is the bus stop where that woman got stabbed."
He put away his money, opened his bag and showed me a knife--in a sheath--and a small ice-pick (like for cocktail ice cubes).
I didn't say, Fat lot of good those are going to do you, in your bag, if someone comes at you out of nowhere.
I said, "That ice pick looks good."
"You want it?" he said.
"Sure!" I said. (It looks handy for poking holes in toy-related objects, or, you know, poking someone in the eye, except I doubt I'd be good at that.)
It's in my bike bag with me here at the café, so I'M PREPARED.
P.S. It occurs to me, for self-defense, slinging a heavy bronze candlestick holder would probably work better than an ice pick.
