Letter to the Landlord (part 1)

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 2: Chapter 4]

URGENT: my letter to the landlord
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 11, 2021 8:10 AM

Tara, I am ready to send this letter via certified snail mail to my landlord, with a cc to the building manager, and Myrtle (the target of my complaint). I will need to haul out my printer for this, which I haven’t used for over two years. Fortunately, I have two unopened boxes of ink (black and color) that will now come in handy. Please read my letter, and send me some feedback. MUCH appreciated. (The ink cost me $42 total three years ago, so printing out one letter is what this will cost me…since I have no other need to use the printer. Or the inks will dry out before I do.)

To Ablahblah Realty:

This regards an ongoing, and most serious, problem at 9666 Market Street, where I have happily resided since 1983, in room 505. Which problem for some unknown reason our building manager, Kevin Bond, has refused to resolve, or is incapable of resolving. It has to do with one woman, Myrtle Haversak, who lives down the hallway from me in apartment 508, with her teenage son, Adisa(sp?).

It seems she has an arrangement with another mom or two, for their sons and daughters to hang out in the hallway at least one day per week, for hours. Which mostly impacts myself, because they are usually parked right in front of my door (at the end of a short hallway), often talking loudly, even yelling sometimes. This is a direct invasion of my privacy, and much worse: they don’t wear a mask! Thus putting myself and everyone else in the building, at risk of catching and spreading the novel coronavirus. I am most at risk, obviously because more exposed to their presence…and in addition, I am seventy years old.

I also do not enjoy hearing teenagers (or anyone else) saying “niggah” this and “niggah” that, even though I realize it is a colloquialism that is acceptable among African American youth. But why should I be subjected to such language outside my own door, for hours on end…along with their “gangsta” style tough talk? Honestly, were I a parent who adopted a black child, I would never raise him like that.

I find it rather intimidating that strangers hang out in the hallway, and close to my door. So much so, that I try not to step out during the lengthy time they are there. And this includes using the restroom I share with two other residents, one of whom is elderly like myself. Talk about discomfort! I really do not like strangers seeing me come and go, especially when they’re hanging out but ten or so feet from my door, and right in front of it.

Not only do they refuse to wear masks, but freely use the same restroom I and two more residents use. Thus exposing me and others to the scary possibility of greater exposure to COVID-19 than need be. This is a problem that’s been going on for at least several months, with no resolution in sight. For I have already spoken with both Mr. Bond and Ms. Haversak twice about this, two and three months ago. Both times Kevin said he’ll get on top of this, and Myrtle gave the impression that she will, too. But things have not changed one iota. So I don’t see any point in confronting either one about this, any more…but simply wonder:

“Doesn’t either Ms. Haversak or Mr. Bond even care about how this uncomfortable scenario is a threat to any and all residents’ lives?” Especially to myself, and other tenants who reside on the second floor.

I have found Kevin Bond to be a most congenial and responsible manager overall, but this takes the cake. Now, I’m sticking my neck out by reporting this to you, due to possible retaliation by one or more parties involved. Nonetheless, my health is at risk, as well as everyone else who lives here, due to Adisa’s friends’ refusal to wear a mask. This is such a dangerous situation due to the potential exposure to a deadly virus being thoughtlessly spread (at least, the potential is there), that I feel compelled to also bring this to the attention of our health authorities, if this problem isn’t truly resolved promptly.

Most sincerely,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

Re: URGENT: my letter to the landlord
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 11, 2021 2:21 PM

It’s fine. Couple of teensy tweaks (in red).

I’ve redacted the letter already, thanks.

Send it!!! What a horrible, fucked-up situation.

I hesitate because of possible retaliation, and the dogs’ safety is my top concern. Retaliation potential may be high, as this could include Adisa’s friends who’ve been hanging out in the hallway at least once a week for months. Myrtle’s son, Adisa, used to be a nice little kid, but he’s big now, around 6-foot-3 and of an athletic build…and unpleasant any more, like he has a chip on his shoulder. The occasional times I say hello to him, he speaks not a word and walks on. Myrtle herself is a petite, straw-haired lesbian around 5-foot-3, who attends the Unitarian Universalist Church, which is composed of mostly milquetoast, rich liberals. She’s been living with her son in that studio apartment for years now, maybe eight or nine. I sense hostility from Adisa, and that his mom probably turned him against me by telling him to never have anything to do with me. Because why? Because I associate with homeless people. Many people around the neighborhood regard me as a dropout and loser former hippie. And no doubt our current manager has played a role in perpetuating this stigma, as have all the former ones. Boy do THEY miss the mark!

Yet my conscience won’t allow me to remain silent, as this is potentially deadly to all who live here. Should I succumb to the virus, what would happen to the doggies? I’m thinking now of just mailing ONE letter first class, to the landlord, and nothing to either Myrtle or the manager. I’ve done this once before, many years ago, over one of the landlord’s myriad relations (this one a nephew six times removed, I think), who just got off the boat from some middle eastern Arab country, and who was given a room on my floor, so of course we shared the bathroom. He was scary-crazy as a loon, probably high on meth…frightened everyone in the building. So I sent Ablahblah Realty my letter of concern, and they moved him out immediately. Funny how the building manager herself NEVER contacted Ablahblah to rectify this problem…so I, a low-paying, long-term renter, did instead.

But here’s an awkward thing that happened on the same day I refused to return the mutts to Deek:

Since my phone was dead, I rushed to Myrtle’s apartment to ask to use her phone. Thinking SHE would be the one to open the door, but no, it was Adisa. So I told him this is an emergency and my land line is dead. He handed me his phone immediately, and I made my first 911 call that day…and informed them that I’m using a neighbor’s phone. Then I handed it back to him, said thanks much, and went on my way. It wasn’t until about a half hour later I remembered I could STILL use my non-cell-service smartphone to dial 911. Wish I had realized that earlier. Two days later, I was just arriving at my hovel when Adisa was walking in my direction on the way out…so I thanked him again, saying that was most appreciated. He just acted like I wasn’t there, and walked right by me, while the brindlekin barked up a storm. They don’t like him.

Also, I seem to finally have the manager on my side regarding the doggies. But that could all change, as a result of my letter to the landlord. So, it all sucks right now.

One more thing: I e-posted this matter to the building manager, and clicked on the “return receipt” tag before sending it. Since I also bcc’d it to you, you were likewise tagged. YOUR receipt came back, but not Kevin’s. Conclusion: he doesn’t use that email, but just gave it to me as a deflection! (OR he chose NOT to click on the “respond receipt” link which, as you’ve suggested, is more likely.) Dontcha love how they treat me here?

Subject: Two significant additions to my letter to Ablahblah Realty.
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 11, 12:16 AM

Just below the paragraph ending with “and in addition, I am seventy years old,” I’ve inserted the following:

“Furthermore: we already have at least one resident who’s come down with the virus…possibly more, since the information as to who and how many is concealed from us by law. What limited information tenants have, is posted in the lobby. I would certainly conclude the possibility that Kamari’s maskless friends may have contributed to spreading this contagion, and may still be doing so.”

And where I say: “Honestly, were I a parent who adopted a black child, I would never raise him like that,” I’ve appended this final, but brief, sentence:

“It’s as if their adult guardians are training them to fail as grownups.”

Precisely the kick in the gut these wee-brained parents seem to be begging for! Why, it may even divide offspring from sire, as predicted in Matthew 10:35.

I am truly OUTRAGED that a resident of this building doesn’t give a fuck about the well-being of others who live here. Doesn’t even sound like she cares about her OWN well-being! ALSO outraged that our building manager is complicit with Myrtle’s deadly agenda.

So I WILL be sending the letter off to ’em all, as it’s the most righteous thing to do. There is something very sinister going on here, so it’s “Friendly Ghost Detective Agency” to the rescue! Time to dust off the old magnifying glass, briar pipe and queerstalker cap…they’ve been neglected for way too long, eh, Wattson!

  • Zeke

PS: Look at how well-rested and content the doggos seem tonight:

Subject: The cat IS now out of the bag!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 12, 2021 4:55 PM

I saw Dieter this afternoon (the guy with the wheelchair), by the Mediterranean restaurant a couple doors up from Rosenberg’s…and told him what’s going on with Myrtle, the manager, and Adisa’s “friends” hanging out in my hallway without masks, and acting rowdy, and how it goes on for three or four hours every week and sometimes more often. He said he had no idea that was going on, and rarely speaks with Kevin (the manager) much any more. That, I believe, is a lie. They live on the same floor only two doors away, and I see them commiserating quite often. So I also asked him does he know where he goes late at night, ’cause I see him returning to our building almost precisely at one AM, two or more nights a week. But of course he said he doesn’t know…humph! So I ALSO confided in him that something wicked is going on with Kevin and Myrtle, so keep an eye out.

Well, I know he’s gonna run up to the fourth floor where he resides, and gossip about all the latest Zeke news. So I got THAT ball rolling…especially since I also told Dieter I’m ready to send a certified letter to Ablahblah Realty, as well as inform the health department…and make other moves in the legal arena.

Then I walked the dogs to corner shop Morey is employed, and also told HIM the dirt. He said he hopes it all works out for me and I replied that yes it will, because when you’re in the right and stand your ground, you always win, and he agreed. So now I got aNOTHER ball rolling…that makes two, so far.

Well, get this, Tara: upon returning to my building, me and the brindlekin encounter Kevin coming down the stairs, so I asked him, did you get my email? He mumbled what I THINK is akin to a yes, so I reminded him this is a health hazard, as well as a gross imposition on my privacy, I don’t even wanna step out to use the restroom while they’re there. He then moved away from me, said they’re teenagers, what do you expect, so I said THAT’S your answer? And he replied, well whaddya want me to do, so I said I’m not TELLING you what to do, I’m just keeping you informed, and you ARE the manager, and I think at this point you need to get the police involved.

He just continued descending the stairway and once he disappeared around the corner I called out why are you being so rude to me, this is a serious matter, a health hazard, they’re putting everyone in the building at risk, including yourself and Myrtle, not to mention ME who is MOST exposed to the danger because of their proximity to my door, to where they hang out.

Well, he stopped responding, so I remember that Adisa and a friend had stepped out about twenty minutes ago to play some rounds of basketball there in Duboce Park. So I figured now’s a good time to confront Myrtle…so I knocked on her door, but no one answered. Then I saw the apartment door opposite Myrtle’s was open and Miguel, our main handyman (he’s been working here almost daily, for over two decades now…and a good guy) repainting the walls for the next sucker who moves in to this travesty of a Hell House Horror. So I informed him about my conflict with the manager, that he might keep an eye out for me. Now that’s THREE balls rolling!

As I turned away from him and proceeded hovel, there was Kevin again, climbing the stairs with another resident, so I immediately addressed him as they ascended:

“This is WRONG, Kevin, you can’t look the other way when some teenagers are hanging out in the hallway for hours at a time, and they’re not wearing a mask, this is a health hazard for everyone in the building, you DO need to do something about it! They don’t even live here!” Zing! Ball FOUR just got rolling!

Now allow me, my most Amazing, Intelligent, Benevolent-Yet-Harsh-Empress-of-Truth, She-Who-Goes-By-MANY-Names-But-Whom-I-Prefer-To-Call-Tara-For-The-Nonce:


They WANT me to take action to stop this…they are playing my enemies, that I become even MORE of a hero than I already am! So I’m not gonna bother certifying my mail, I already have stamps and envelopes here, and an excellent printer with fresh ink. It shall all be accomplished tonight, and mailed tonight, as well.

  • Zeke

Re: The cat IS now out of the bag!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 12, 2021 8:35 PM

Aw, you flatten me!

In a two-dimensional world, that would TRULY be the case!

Something tells me things are gonna get nice and quiet real soon.

Yes, but the snare has already sprung…and they can’t cover up their history of more than several months violating my right to not be unduly exposed to COVID-19, and to not have rude, bullying strangers hang right outside my door for as long. They are so TOTALLY screwed. I’m sure I’ll find a GREAT attorney…it’s in the cards (or perhaps I should say “it’s in the law books”)!

Re: Letter to My Landlord now posted on my blog
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 12, 2021 9:18 PM

Good work!!

Thank you, Tara. I’m rather proud of it…but I couldn’t have done it without the strenuous efforts of mine enemies to try to wipe me out. If any one of ’em attempts to flatter or buy me off into softening my opposition, I’ll feign to do just that. But slice their throats just the same, when the time is ripe…metaphorically speaking of course (heavens to Murgatroyd, I couldn’t even kill a ladybug). The final result of the letter I shall soon print out and deliver unto the eagle wings of the USPS, has one additional appendage you are not yet aware of:

“P.S.: I have just confronted Kevin Bond again, over this, and he was both thoughtless and rude, with the ridiculous excuse that they’re teenagers, what should I expect? This is abhorrent. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being targeted! If that is the case, it surely will backfire.”

I must say, my dear Wattson:

‘Tis GOOD for the Friendly Ghost Detective Agency to hang its shingle out once more, after all these years twiddling my pipe tobacco stained thumbs while staring out the window overlooking Baker Street through the dreary smog, as Professor Morgueiarty grimaces at me from behind the curtains of a passing coach.



Subject:This is so STUPID!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 13, 2021 3:05 PM

So I dusted off my old HP Deskjet 3000 printer, only to find it refused to print, kept declaring that the paper feed is empty! Even though I could see with my own eyes that it contained ten 8-1/2 by 11 inch sheets, properly inserted. So I went through the troubleshooting process, but no cigar. Then, after about a half hour futzing around with the devilish device, it suddenly started printing out. I was delighted!

Until I retrieved the two sheets from the tray, only to discover they were a printout of some bank transaction record dating back to 2017! So MORE futzing around ensued, and finally, it coughed up the Ablahblah Realty letter. So I made three copies, then packed the printer away. Which is a pain in the ass, both unpacking and packing, as it’s stored in the lower bin, so I gotta lift the equally heavy top bin off the lower one, and set it on the floor…in a gingerly fashion mind you, as I have my lamp, desk storage bin, Android tablet, land line telephone, and a smaller bin containing daily items such as wallet, bandanna, scissors, foldable reading glasses, etc. Can’t have it all slide off and crash to the floor!

Then I realized I still need to print addresses on three legal size envelopes which, of course, I did not have…though I thought I did, but failed to check first. This means I’m gonna have to go through the whole, cumbersome process again, the next day, unpacking and repacking the Deskjet. Which I came to learn a little while later I’m gonna have to anyway, because a dumb typo had eluded this jaded old pilgrim, until after the letters were printed out. Alas, “contributed” was misspelled as “contibuted.” Arrgh!

But then a bright idea put a spark in my halo: “Why don’t you just use one of those online print-and-mail services that are so prolific and easy to use these days, Zeke? You can afford it!”

So I eagerly logged onto the USPS “click2mail” site, registered, and voilà, I was in! You can even mail letters CERTIFIED from there…for just $4.50! But let me tell you, Tara, it’s a tangle of spaghetti, jumping through pointless and exacerbating hoops just setting things up for ONE lousy letter, then figuring out how to preview and send it off. From setting up an address to formatting it properly, to reviewing it before clicking on the “mail it now” button…all a monstrous, convoluted affair doomed to failure right out of the gate. I just could NOT figure out how to get it done! And I know it’s not ME, because I’m pretty much an expert in things computer/Internet-ish. I finally gave up and conceded to doing it the old fashioned way.

But what ALSO pisses me off, is that they now have some valuable data on me, that I can’t erase at this point. So here’s yet ONE MORE database vulnerable to hacking and identity theft, that sooner or later will catch up to me…as it will to us all. I predict that the entire human race will wake up some day soon, to discover everyone’s money and personal information in one humongous server that is also in the name of one, humongous company, black market or otherwise. Maybe even just one person! (I pray to God that person be me.) And we’ll all have to use the same username and password to do ANYthing at all.

So I still need to purchase some legal size envelopes, then print them out. Hopefully getting the format right, so that the return and sendee addresses are properly positioned, will NOT be too much of a pinch in the keister. THEN I have to go somewhere in PERSON, to get that one letter addressed to Ablahblah Realty, certified. And I’ll have to bring the doggies which I DON’T want to do, as I will be forging deeper into dangerous territory, where I’m more likely to run into Deek or a minion of his. Jeez Louise, when is all this mounting doo-doo gonna end? Oh yeah, in three days, January 16th, which is Saturday. I HOPE.

I don’t know, Tara, but between the Chronic.net DSL crap and the Maskless Black Teenagers fiascoes, so much of my time has become wrapped up with resolving them, thus sabotaging my writing schedule. Eating up at least three stupid hours a day. And I STILL need to find an attorney on top of all that!

Just griping, I hope you have an INCREDIBLE day, Ms. Tara of the Whispering Vents of Circe’s’ Cavern (or is it “tavern”)!

(That was Wiley saying hi; she just jumped onto my lap, which also means onto the keyboard.)

  • Zeke

Subject: Morey or Less Friendly
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 13, 2021 6:03 PM

I’ve been in the habit recently of securing the doggie leashes to the bungee cord holding Morey’s corner shop door open. A fine arrangement as it turns out, because both Wiley & Taco are quiet and patient, and I can pretty much see them, no matter which aisle I’m standing in. And of course, they’re always in direct view of Morey, because he’s stationed at the front counter. While my pups are perfectly well behaved when I take them inside the shop, nonetheless the aisles are narrow, and I risk stepping on them.

So, this afternoon I proceed as usual, to tie them up before entering Duboce Food & Liquor, when suddenly Morey returns from his vehicle with a load of keys and chains attached to his belt, loudly clanking away as he returns to the shop. Which startled the brindlekin into yapping and snarling up a storm! Morey swung his legs away and skirted ’round them as if he were about to be mauled to death, like that tragic Diane Whipple case.

Upon my stepping inside, he admonished me with: you need to tie your dogs up elsewhere, I don’t want them biting customers. I told him they never bite, at worst they’ll nip at your heels, and it’s the clanking metallic sounds that upset them (people don’t know that, he interjected, and I replied that people should know better than to approach a stranger’s dog while making disruptive noises, right, and besides, I have them tight on a leash)…but I’ll take them inside now, if you’d like…he said never mind, just get your stuff, it’s fine.

As I plucked a few items off the shelves I noticed two other folks had entered the shop, and one had already left by the time I was ready to make my purchase. That is when I said: see, they’re peaceful, people stepping in and out, no problem, it’s just the clashing metal, like those dammed skateboards…besides, you caught me off-guard, otherwise I would’ve pulled ’em over to the curb while you passed. I do that whenever I see some tweaker coming my way at night, dangling metallic junk like a derelict robot.

But, Tara, I think there is an underlying peeve he newly harbors, ever since I shared with him my conflict with the building manager and the neighbor down the hallway, regarding her messed up son and his so-called “friends!” People are like that in this miserable burg: while they know everybody’s business, largely in part due to their OWN wilfull gossip and listening to that of others, they like to pretend they don’t, even if refusal to acknowledge certain horrid situations does further damage…including collateral, if you will. As my old friend, Chuck (who used to live in this building for over two decades and a half and actually got me in here) used to say about this city that he nicknames San Franshitsco: “It’s like living in a fishbowl.”

So, in order to test my theory (about Morey’s hidden peeve), I pointed out the narrow box of legal size, secure envelopes which price he just punched into the cash register, and declared:

“I got my letter to the landlord printed out last night, but I don’t have the right envelopes, so I’ll have to delay mailing them until tomorrow, because I need this certified…you know, for my own records.”

He simply grunted uh-huh in such a tone as to indicate he’s heard enough about my debacle the last time around. I, however, was determined to NOT leave it alone, seeing as I’ve ALWAYS been suppressed, even told outright to shut the fuck up whenever I bring up something that strikes me as important for others to know…and I’m utterly fed up with this thoughtlessly flippant disregard that seems to be the hallmark of Shitsco by the Bay, and manifests an urban-wide atmosphere of social isolation for the unlucky non-elite, and an “i got mine, you get yours” hellscape. Thus, I pressed on.

I firmly, calmly emoted that this mask-less invasion foisted upon myself and all residents to be a horrific violation, such that I really have no choice but to answer to my conscience…and this letter will make the manager and the countless other homonculi in this backwater excuse of a hamlet who’ve fucked with me, think TWICE: if Zeke has the balls to do this, what else will he do? I don’t think it’s in my best interest to find out!

Morey then asked a rather DUMB question: is there a sign in the hallway about wearing a mask, and I replied no, not in the hallway, in the lobby, but that doesn’t make a difference because it’s a city-wide mandate with or without a sign. But he persisted, stating that property owners are ordered to put up such signs…which speaking thusly was clearly a backhanded slap in my face, seeing as he seems to care LESS about a community member’s own well-being than he does about keeping his shelves properly stocked and the produce looking all fresh and spiffy. So much about supporting a loyal customer in a time of crisis, with simply a kind ear…like I was the one about to commit a great crime for standing up to bullies!

So often I feel like the little red hen for whom no one cares to help bake this bread she kneads very much, and often! Bread is the staff of life, what on earth do they think is gonna happen to them if they don’t get their hands in the dough now and then, even if it’s just a pinky? Don’t they grasp the metaphor?

I know what is soon going to happen…YOU know what is soon going to happen, Tara…and some lucky OTHERS know what’s going to happen. But do you, dear reader, know, as well? I’m hitting you over the head with my tales, so you SHOULD know by now, and what role I play in it. But if you DON’T know yet, there is still a bit more time to catch up and awaken. And just when IS that Momentous Day To End All Days Only To Resurrect Itself of which I hint? Only Queen Boudica Who Art in Avalon knows THAT, but I DO know it is due VERY soon, perhaps in just a few days from now. For I sense the idea of January 16th welling up in my mind and heart, as that likely event. Though I HAVE been wrong before, and I don’t gamble with celestial dice. And YOU shouldn’t either, if you know what’s good for you.

  • Zeke

Subject: A little pterodactyl just told me…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 13, 2021 11:25 PM

…in her words, and her words only (in the dark of night, perched upon the near end of a streetcar cable ten feet from my window, and four feet higher up…the luminescence of the street lamp cast a golden-ruddy-brown sheen upon her outspread wings and beak):

“Hello, Zeke. I bring you greetings from the Nebula Mesozoa where you are celebrated as The One Most High! We heard your thoughts of worry over the impact your Letter to the Landlord will have. I have been assigned the honored mission to inform you that all will align in your favor, in every way possible! You need not worry, unless the emotion pleases you.”

“Good to know, thank you, Pterry!” I responded in thoughtful waves of appreciation.

“But wait, there’s more!” she bobbed her elongated noggin most enthusiastically, and continued: “Here is how things will go down. Myrtle Haversak will neither allow her adopted son, Adisa, to see your letter, nor let him know she ever GOT that letter in the first place.”

“Really! And why is that?”

“Oh you’re gonna love this, Zeke,” a glint of hilarity flashed in her eye. “After some deliberation, she will realize that you were absolutely correct when you wrote: ‘It’s as if their adult guardians are training them to fail as grownups.’ In fact, it will strike her like a bolt of plasma, and she’ll suddenly feel SO ashamed that she’s nowhere near as good a broody as she thought she was! So she’ll vow right then and there, to stop Adisa from going down a bad path, which you succinctly pointed out with your ‘niggah this’ remark.”

“That is really good to hear,” I interjected.

“But wait, Zeke, there’s still more!” she trilled softly with her long beak lowered closer to my ear. “She will forbid her wayward son from EVER speaking in gangsta again, including using the word ‘niggah’ in any form whatsoever…and cut him off from his present groupies as they are not true friends, but a bad influence.”

“Zowie! Good for Myrtle!” I joyfully proclaimed.

“You won’t believe this, Zeke, but there’s more still!” And she proceeded to elaborate: “She will ship him off to a Catholic school of elevated caliber, to finish out his last two years of secondary education. And the black students there are all held to higher standards than those he now knows.”

“Isn’t that remarkable,” I pondered.

“Oh I’m not finished, Zeke, there’s yet still more, much much more!” Pterry then cleared her raspy throat with a funny hoot, before commencing: “Adisa will be instructed by she who laid the egg that gave hatch to him, to knock on your door and profusely apologize.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’d even care to open my door, but okay.”

“Then they’ll both move out in the shake of an archaeopteryx’s feathered tail, and you’ll never see them again!”

I beamed with joy: “This is certainly something to celebrate, but what about the building manager, and Ablahblah Realty?”

“Well let’s see, Zeke,” she said with beak raised to ponder how to put her words together aptly, then revealed the most wonderful outcome to this bird of a different skin:

“Ablablah Realty will be stunned and greatly dismayed to discover what you have revealed in that timely missive. It will not hurt that, at the last moment, you thought to include a link to your Brindlekin Tales below your signature, as “tinyurl.com/brindlekin,” since they will quickly learn that you write about everything important that happens to you, including what goes on in 9666 Market Street! After they read Letter to the Landlord, they’ll conclude you are TOO intelligent and well informed about your rights, for them EVER to consider opposing you even in the LEAST of ways. Your documentation of ALL offenses you have suffered while living there will impress them in no small measure, for they will have assigned a small cadre of attorneys to pore over EVERYTHING you’ve written on both your Gay Bible website AND your WordPress blog!”

“Now I’M impressed,” I chortled in delight. “So then what?”

“Well, let’s see now…oh, right, after they make their decision as to the proper action to take, the first thing they will do is contact Mr. Bond, your manager, and demand he depart the edifice you occupy immediately, whence he should come to their office, where they’ll present him with a fat cashier’s check so long as neither they, nor anyone who occupies 9666, ever see him again. For the attorneys will come to realize that you have a POWERFUL case against them, and they won’t be out of the woods for a long time to come, if ever.”

“That’s right!” I brightly replied. “I have months of evidence to my being needlessly, possibly exposed to the virus by STRANGERS loitering in my hallway!”

“Correctomundo, My Effervescent Phoenix of Effusiveness!” gleefully replied pterodactyl Pterry, who went on to describe in rather extraordinary detail, the stupendously benevolent outcome of my standing up to Ablablah et al! And now, good reader, I share it all with you:

The attorneys for Ablablah will summarily offer me a most handsome sum in hopes of averting an actual lawsuit as well as a SCANDAL, which they KNOW I’ll win. They’ll suggest half a million while I stand firm at TWO million, reminding them that the offense committed can gain me at LEAST five million…but that I may decide to take this to the barrister anyway, in light of the apparent necessity of ensuring the preservation of ALL lives at 9666 Market Street. IOW: the real issue is not money at all, but life itself. So they commiserate amongst themselves for several minutes, then turn to me and say “Okay.”

“Just a moment there, lackeys,” I respond. “I’ve suddenly changed my mind and upped the ante to TEN million dollars, PLUS ownership of the ENTIRE premises, including the shops below.”

They act truly startled at this point (such being the role of top notch thespians: to appear totally convincing), but wind up concluding that is what they’ll have to do, considering my threat to turn this into a citywide–nay, statewide and nationwide–scandal. Within three more days, all papers are drawn up, signed and delivered unto Ezekiel J. Krahlin, raconteur extraordinaire. But I decide to go ahead anyway, and turn it into a scandal by posting a hot news tip to the LGBT newspapers (the Bay Area Reporter and the SF Bay Times) as well as to the San Franshitsco Examiner, the San Franshitsco Chronicle, and KGO radio news. Thus, the scandal takes wing across not just the entire city, or the entire state, or the entire nation…or even across the entire planet! For word of this stunningly egregious scandal spreads even further, to the distant stars of the Milky Way Galaxy and beyond. At this point the attorneys realize that they, along with ALL persons associated with Ablahblah Realty, are massively boned. Accusing me of breaking the contract because I blew the whistle against the signed agreement that I will definitely NOT do that, will accomplish nothing (they have wisely concluded) thanks to so many eyes upon them, including the slimy, all-knowing, pitch-dark God-of-the-Dead-Now-Reanimated BUGG-SASH with eyes more numerous than the grains of sand on Baker Beach!

So many incredible achievements will spin off from this Boon of Great Proportion, that I must save describing them for another time. Except to note that ONE result will be an unprecedented outpouring of gifts and monies for my homeless doggy project, so much so that I will easily be able to set up my “Bay Area Homeless Pet Foundation,” which will include HOUSING homeless people with pets immediately. Rapidly followed by a separate foundation for housing ALL those lacking a roof over their long-suffering heads.

Gasping with astonishment after hearing this mega-profound outcome of my good works, I managed to choke out these words without collapsing into a swoon:

“Enough! Enough! Thank you, but I do not possess your cold blood, that would allow me to absorb such exciting news on an intergalactic level…”

“InterDIMENSIONAL as well,” interjected Pterry.

“All right,” I retorted, as my right hand suddenly slipped from the window sill, causing me to almost drop to the concrete below. “Such exciting news on an intergalactic AND interdimensional level, that I beg of you, PLEASE let’s get back down to earth, the air is awfully thin up there!”

“Very well, my fine unfeathered friend,” cackled the glimmering pterosaur in a whistling sort of way. “Let’s get back to the nest and wrap things up. I have one final tidbit of good news to convey…and it is QUITE down to earth! In fact, it’s so down to earth you may need to wear galoshes, as it’s also begun to rain!”

It was only when she uttered that last sentence that I realized I was already soaked from head to upper torso; no wonder my hand slipped!

Pterry paused a moment as I stabilized my position against the window frame: “Okay, Mr. Krahlin: this is definitely a near-future development…one which will please you considerably!”

“Yes, yes, what is that, exactly? PLEASE continue!” I egged her on (an easy thing to do, in light of her ovoid origin).

“Ahem,” she preceded for emphasis. “Ablahblah Realty will replace the present building manager with one who will surrender to most every wish of yours, Zeke!”

“Oh, really? THIS is fascinating!”

“And he will be QUITE attractive as well,” beamed Pterry, “very much to your liking, indeed!”

I was thinking maybe that would be Arwyn, but she suddenly fluttered away in a kind of medieval light such as you see in those paintings from the early Dark Ages…so I didn’t have a chance to ask.

There is another matter which I think will come out of all this, Tara…as I have fantasized about it countless times and over many years: that some day I will wind up owning the building. Now, I can more easily see how that could happen. BTW:

Towards the end of composing this latest tale, I took a break and gazed out the window. What did I see? A vehicle pulling over and out hopped Adisa looking all cocky and gangsterish in his gray Adidas hoodie and black sweat pants with a white stripe from hip to ankle, strutting in his flashy-new Nike sneakers like King Rooster while mumbling whatever into his fancy iPhone, as he walked to the gate, and entered.

  • Zeke

Subject: I can’t be professional no matter how hard I try!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 14, 2021 12:16 AM

Trying to print on an envelope failed miserably! Even though I followed instructions to a T, the printer refused to process the envelopes correctly, but instead kept whining about being out of paper. Strangely, it unexpectedly spit out ONE successful result, however there was a nasty ink smudge on the left of center. Plus, the lines came out slightly slanted because the wheels must’ve pulled it through at a skewed angle. So I just wasted a precious 3+ hours that would’ve been MUCH better spent writing another story. And now, I have no choice but to HAND PRINT each of three envelopes…and my handwriting sucks donkey warts. This also diminishes the import of my letter. Now how fucked is that?

  • Zeke

Subject: No such thing as professional if it’s “almost”…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 14, 2021 9:11 AM

…but this will have to do:

Click here for a larger view.

Letters are still in my hovel, but not much longer! Next time I take the doggies for a walk, the job will be done. Let the feathers fly!

Friendly Ghost Detective Agency at your service, ma’am. I have all sorts of ghosts assisting me, including a pterodactyl phantom from a nebula far, far away! We charge a little extra for those kind.

  • Zeke

PS: Here is the final version of my letter that I sent to Ablahblah Realty, with a copy to Kevin and Myrtle. It’s in rtf format:

Click here to read.

Re: No such thing as professional if it’s “almost”…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 14, 2021 4:01 PM

I think it looks good. I like the URGENT message; bound to get somebody’s attention.

It BETTER! I didn’t certify it, but the last time I mailed them an urgent letter (about eight years ago), it was also uncertified; nonetheless they responded promptly and expulsed the insane resident I had to share a restroom with for six weeks. My letters are now in the corner mailbox, restless to take wing and seek out their prey, like vampire bats…or maybe just vampires.

If you look at the very last section of “Letter to the Landlord,” you’ll see I provided a link to a pic of the REAL envelope, and the actual letter. This means that anyone who wants, can discover the bona-fide property owner of my building, as well as my own residential address and the REAL addresses and names of the perpetrators in their unholy mission. This might get interesting.

Though I’m hoping this will gather allies around me, to staunch any possible assaults on my person, the dogs, or the building itself. Who knows WHO the fuck is reading my tales any more? Surely not all of them play the enemy!

I think from now on, I’m gonna enter and leave my domicile with my smartphone camera running, in case of any unexpected confrontation.

Scroll a bit up now from the bottom of the landlord page, and you’ll discover a cute cartoon image of Pterry the Pterodactyl! I’m very proud of that delightful little vignette I sent you, entitled “A little pterodactyl just told me…”.

  • Zeke

PS: Nothing but dead silence from Chronic.net the past two days. Are they conferring with their attorneys? At any rate, their service leaves much to be desired for their lower-tiered customers.

Subject: I just contacted an attorney…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 14, 2021 5:48 PM

…via their online submission form. This is Jared Kingsley, with whom I already discussed the elevator repairmen issue some months previously. Here is what I posted to him:

Mr. Kingsley: We’ve talked before, over an issue of elevator repairmen in my building during this pandemic…hopefully you remember. Anyway, I have unwillingly become embroiled in a much more serious issue of a resident on my floor allowing strangers to hang out in my hallway for 2-4 hours at least once a week, and they do NOT wear masks, and they make noise and act intimidating, and hang out almost right outside my door. The manager knows about this, but prefers to look the other way. This letter I just snail mailed to our landlord will give you a good idea of the horrid and threatening situation I am in, and have been in for more than four months (it’s in rtf format):


Please note my DSL land line is presently dead, for more than a week now, and Chronic.net, my provider, is dragging their feet on resolving this problem. So if you call, my voicemail still works, but I can’t call back. But I CAN do email, so long as my Internet connection remains working…which it may not, due to this Chronic.net issue which they are failing to resolve at this time. I have no other phone.

Meanwhile, I now have werewolves taking over my hovel:

Subject: The 16th was uneventful…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 16, 2021 11:24 PM

…which may be a good thing, as it’s been four days since I mailed my letter to the landlord, the manager, and the offending resident, yet not a peep! But maybe the letter won’t arrive till Monday. As for today, I DID mark a milestone of my first expense using my GoFundMe debit card. However, it was not a simple process, though it should have been. I first needed to activate the card by either phoning a number and punching the right buttons, or just go to a store and use my PIN. I first tried the phone number, but all I got was an automated response from a health insurance company! Maybe I misdialed by one digit? I don’t know, I didn’t wanna bother, as it would be much easier to just punch in my PIN…or so I thought.

So this afternoon I told the doggies I’d be right back, and traversed around the corner to Jeffrey’s Natural Pet Foods shop, and selected a generous portion of leather treats of various fauna, then went to the register. Alas, their system rejected my card, because they didn’t have any process where you have to first use the PIN. I told the cashier this makes no sense; she suggested I need to use a credit card, not a debit card…but I told her here’s the card I’ve been using all along…and withdrew my regular debit card from my wallet. So, no, your store accepts debit cards; I just don’t think you’re familiar with the PIN requirement when one gets a new card, can you call your supervisor or manager?

This was after we tried all possible combinations so graciously offered by their electronic cash system. So the manager listened to her explanation, which was completely off-base. I explained once more that a new debit card requires you to tap in your PIN in order for it to activate…and that’s why your system is rejecting it. Nowhere along the line does it step up to the plate and ask for my PIN. The manager then asked to look at my card, and, after she spent about twenty seconds examining it, pointed to the removable label with a phone number I could call, in lieu of using my PIN at a store.

“See this?” she sagely opined.”You can activate your card by calling this number.”

“No I can’t,” I replied, “I already tried that, and I get a health insurance company instead of Chase. I have never had a problem using my PIN at any store before, with a new card.”

It was obvious to me they hadn’t a clue as to what I was talking about…I guess because waving a smartphone over an electronic eye is all they ever learned! So I sighed and said hold onto my package, I’m gonna go down the street and purchase something with this card, which will require me to type in the PIN. Of course, that meant I needed to spend an additional ten dollars to get the ball rolling, as the corner store where Morey works, has that as a minimum amount to pay with your credit or debit card. And (better yet) the purchase had to be something canine related. What does that place sell for dogs except dog food? Something which I am presently up to my ears in, thanks to the generosity of donors to my Amazon Doggy Wish List. So, dog food it had to be, anyway, and I wound up buying eight cans of it.

But my card didn’t work the first time around, their system claiming it was not the correct PIN! Fortunately, the second time was the charm. Then I marched on back to Jeffrey’s to finally buy more of those leather treats Taco & Wiley love so much, and which saved the day by putting an end to their hunger strike. Upon reentering I told the cashier, now it’ll work, just wait and see! (I was still peeved that she made an uneducated guess that I need to use a REAL credit card…a stupid thing to say, though conveniently expedient from HER side of the counter. The payment went through like a greased eel up Donald Trump’s anus. Before departing I told the not-too-bright woman that this is a pivotal moment in my life, because it is the first transaction I’ve made with my new GoFundMe debit card. Then I explained a bit about my homeless doggies project, and that all she has to do to read my tales about it, is search Google for “brindlekin.” Then she made aNOTHER lame comment:

“You DO know don’t you, that brindle is just the color of the fur, and not a breed?”

I was ready to smash her head bloody into the keys of the register, but thought better of it, and replied: “Oh I had no idea; that sure is an eye opener!” and vamoosed outta there to get some smart air into my lungs.

Yet two more Amazon packages had arrived by the time I returned hovel: two doggie raincoats with little ducks imprinted all over them, and two doggie sweaters. Unfortunately, the raincoats were way too large, but I wish I had bothered to take a snapshot of Lucky dressed in one of them! He looked so damned forlorn, with the hood reaching far over his head so you wouldn’t even know it was there.

And the sweaters were super-tiny, even though I had provided the large size via the link you click on, in that wish-list page. So now the items are back in their fat, bubble-lined pouches, waiting to be returned by UPS just six or seven doors west of my domicile. Once Amazon receives them, they will credit me with $75 in the form of a gift card. I hate wasting some kind person’s good money! I’ll get the RIGHT sizes with it.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: earlier this evening, that scraggly homeless lady with hardly any teeth left (called “Pippin,” and whom I’ve seen quite regularly hanging out with Deek) passed me by while exclaiming I’m gonna get the shit beat outta me for stealing his dogs! I tried to get her to stop a moment and take a gander at the video of our verbal contract, but what would be the point if she did? The woman’s way too schizophrenic to be of any use in squelching Deek’s badmouthing me across the street-people-scape. But I’m not worried about it, as I’m too schizophrenic myself to NOT act like a rabid hyena with a chip on its brisket should someone look at me the wrong way, when it comes to my brindlekin!

So that’s January 16th for me: an utter disappointment overall, but I have these sweet pooches that make everything wonderful, no matter what. And this surprise pile of packages from kindhearted donors certainly didn’t hurt! And I got my phone back now, and most of my Internet speed. And all’s quiet on the Western Front regarding Adisa’s maskless punks loitering in the hallways. But tomorrow’s Sunday, the day they have always shown up…so I’ll just have to wait and see. I just might give ’em a piece of my mind and let the fur fly! Or just call the police about strangers wandering around in my building, and not wearing masks.

Funny how the world has changed! One used to be quite tremulous over strangers wearing masks on one’s premises, but nowadays you’re even MORE fearful if they DON’T. It also makes me think: “Gee, we’re all Muslims now!” But one good thing that comes out of wearing a mask–at least for me, that is–is that no one gets to see my ugly, rotten teeth. I’m just like everybody else, now!

  • Zeke

Re: [MCN-Discussion]- Letter to the Landlord (my latest blog entry)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: January 17, 2021 11:04 AM

On Fri, 15 Jan 2021 08:27:40 -0500 Fake an Ogre <gettinridofcrap@geemail.com> squoinked:

So what this letter tells me is that you are an intolerant racist. No more. No less. Fuck right off you racist fascist.

Aha, I see you’ve chosen the “Play the Ignoramus” card, Mr. Psychobitch! Surely you must have a terribly weak hand to opt for THAT despicable move. I don’t give a flying fuck WHAT color the skin (including white): if they are hanging out in the hallway of a residential building where they do NOT reside, causing noise disruptions as well as not wearing a mask, they are breaking some pretty damn serious laws. And if YOU’RE the most exposed to their arrogance, you really SHOULD move forward with a complaint to the property owner, and then press charges if you do not get prompt results. They are potentially exposing EVERYONE in the building to a deadly virus…so playing the racist card does NOT work in this case. But even if we weren’t in a pandemic, there is NO REASONABLE EXCUSE to hang out in the hallway of a residential building where they do not belong, and being a noise disturbance and public nuisance on top of that. The person most responsible for this offense is the mother of the boy who’s bringing them into the building, but keeping them out of HER apartment because, you know, coronavirus…yet allowing others in the building to be exposed to these maskless clowns. She did NOT ask me, or any other neighbor, if they would mind…she just foisted them upon us. My conclusion:

You know very well they are breaking the law in more ways than one, but since the main victim of their crime is yours truly, you decided to play the Ignoramus card. A poor move under any circumstance…then again, one who is TRULY an ignoramus, would find playing that card a flattery to the ego. Thus: your Invisible Fortress is now revealed. But I guess you don’t care, because you already lost this game (Battle of the Bodhisattvas) many moves ago.

Re: The 16th was uneventful…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 17, 12:22 PM

{{ I was ready to smash her head bloody into the keys of the register, but thought better of it, and replied: “Oh I had no idea; that sure is an eye opener!” and vamoosed outta there to get some smart air into my lungs. }}

Those paragraphs right there made me laugh out loud.

Thanks, that was my goal! However, I fear the workers at that shop may be offended. But what price humor? I’m discovering my writing style and choice of characters and urban locale seem to be a blend of O’Henry and Runyon. I’m very much attracted to that literary era of this nation: late 1890s through the 1930s. Do you see that, too…or something else, or more? Your insight is more objective than mine could ever be, regarding my own talents. But what an incredible spurt of creativity since late October…I can readily acknowledge that at this point in my life, I am truly an artist of a VERY high caliber. Nothing to sneeze at, but the dogs go ahead and do it anyway. And YOU deserve wads of kudos, for being such a stalwart and patient supporter of my writing, and even my personal struggles over MANY years. I know that a person with borderline schizophrenia and bipolarity is sometimes DIFFICULT to hang in there with. So:


I dunno. Sounds as if the day was rich with small but mighty triumphs for you.

Actually, it was. I’m just sick and tired of being surrounded by the “normals.” Everyday it’s like running an obstacle course, hardly a moment of friendly exchange. This city sucks wart hog abscesses. For two examples of recent vintage:

Last Friday when I reentered the building, I loosed the doggies from their leashes, as usual, that they could enjoy a minute or two romping through my hallway. They don’t even bark, and I think the staccato padding of their feet on the carpeted floor adds a sense of “joie de vivre” into this otherwise dreary habitation. And the hallways are almost always empty and silent, anyway. But the moment they reached the second floor, there was my crotchety nasty neighbor, Dodd, who just stood there with a sour grimace on his face, as the pups yapped furiously, fake-nipping at his heels. (He ALWAYS has a sour grimace on his face, BTW. ) Unfortunately for me, we share the restroom…and he is likely the person that smeared a bit of human feces on the throw rug the TWO times the building manager added them to the bathroom, to make things more homey; but gave up after the second offense. I finally was able to grab onto both their collars and coerce them into my room, while Dodd proceeded down the stairs. He COULD’ve just continued down the stairs before I rounded them up, but no. I can easily imagine him complaining to the building manager, over this. Even though most everyone else understands that–since the pandemic began–the hallways have become vacant for the most part, and a new doggie or two is therefore not accustomed to seeing other people inside…thus the occasional, passing resident is perceived as an intruder.

Then just earlier today, as my brindlekin were chasing each other up and down the corridor (which is actually Y-split into two hallways, so a lot more fun), and I opened the door to my SRO to allow them a quick dash therein, I suddenly heard them barking up a storm. Which, of course, meant someone was either in the hallway, or on the stairs nearby. It was straw-haired Myrtle, the mother of Adisa, standing on the second-to-top step with coffee in hand, waiting for me to round them up. So I did just that, pulling them away several feet, that she may pass without obstruction. Naturally, she said not a word to me, nor I to her. I can’t imagine what’s going on in that Unitarian Universalist little noggin of hers, but I’m sure it harbors untoward prejudice towards yours truly. Has she received my letter yet? I have no idea.

Today’s another day. Let us break bread, that we may extract the metal file hidden within.

  • Zeke

Subject: “Are they your dogs now?” queried the building manager…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 17, 2:32 PM

…as he approached the front gate obliquely from where I stood, paused to withdraw the keys from my pocket.

“Yes, they are now!” was my simple reply.

As we entered the lobby, he reached a hand out to the doggies in friendship, and they didn’t bark at all. Until a few minutes later, when they pulled back to assert their guardianship over me. But Kevin was not perturbed, for their barks were not as strident as the several other times they’ve met, and I was able to silence them with my deeply voiced reprimand, which I repeated thrice:

“No barking!”

So I told him a bit about my story around Deek and the doggies, and how I willingly fronted my entire stimulus payment to acquire them. Seeing as my houseless friend was not treating them right, and I couldn’t bear to see such sweet creatures without a true home or human friend. Kevin is also Buddhist as far as I know, as he mentioned it once, years ago when I asked him if he has any spiritual perspective on life.

We remained in the lobby a few more minutes, as I elaborated upon my bodhisattva theory that Deek is one, too, and his vagrancy and nastiness is but an act, where he plays the enemy so that “I” can play the hero. And that I believe he intended to give me the dogs all along. I also brought up Buddha’s famous quote, “we have no enemies, only teachers,” and thus extrapolated that we must always find a way to resolve a conflict as compassionately as possible. But that MAY mean, under certain extreme circumstances, to act with violence on some level, if all compassionate options have been considered and expressed.

And I’m glad I shared that with him, considering my letter he has probably received, but maybe not. And, if not, he will not be so inordinately reactive when he DOES read it. For I believe at this point, he will “capiche” that, should this Adisa debacle come to legal blows, I will see to it that all parties involved will actually BENEFIT from my approach. Not necessarily materially (although that will probably be a significant part of the resolution), but most definitely in the way of wisdom.

I DO ponder that his considerate regard toward me today, in the lobby, may indeed be the result of his reading my letter, and also having been questioned by a representative from Ablahblah Realty. In conclusion, he told me:

“Well, since the dogs are so peaceful, as well as housebroken, I’m glad they’ve found a good home with you.”

He didn’t use those same words, but that was the gist of it. Happy days are here again! What a battle, and SUCH sweet victory!

  • Zeke

Re: “Are they your dogs now?” queried the building manager…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 17, 2021 5:38 PM

Major, major hurdle behind you!!!!!

And so painlessly resolved. I am presently basking in the victory, knowing full well that Kevin Bond will become my latest, and perhaps greatest, disciple. Hardy har har. Now, here’s a little vignette for you, that I call:


And it just happened today…so, true story. I had forgotten to buy more whipped cream cheese for my breakfast of Alvarado Street’s toasted, whole grain sprouted wheat raisin bread. Upon which I love to slather not only cream cheese, but St. Dalfour’s blueberry preserves sweetened in grape juice. And it was almost three in the afternoon! That’s right, beloved reader, I don’t break fast these days until rather late. And that is because the doggies come first, so we rise up at 7:30 AM or so for their morning ablution, then return hovel to prepare for them, their yummy bowl of Pedigree gravy style beef or chicken stew, with a handful of kibble mixed in, along with a generous portion of those expensive leather treats I purchase at Jeffrey’s Natural Pet Foods store just around the corner ($3.25/ounce!), and which the pups are crazy for! I just crumble up the leathers and stir ’em right in: a one hundred percent guarantee they’ll eat all their food, down to the last morsel. Why, they even lick their bowls clean any more!

After tending to their needs and happiness, I enjoy stepping back out for a few minutes to pick up a steaming cup of Arabica from Rosenberg’s, also just around the corner (on Noe Street). At this time in the morning (between 9 and 10 AM) I prefer to languish over my coffee (that I sweeten with two packets of Sweet’N Low and a teaspoon dollop of Wild Mountain Raw Honey: the best in their class I’d say, and for a most reasonable price: $14.99 for two pounds). I should also note that when I pour my coffee at Rosenberg’s, I fill the cup to only eighty percent, so as to turn it into an almost-latte upon returning hovel, and after adding the sweeteners. Heavenly!

So then I’m “in the zone”…of languishing, that is, which lasts three or four hours while working on my latest tale, or two or three…or coming up with new ones. All this, while sipping on Rosenberg’s golden brown nectar. While listening to just one radio station all day long, for background ambience that appears to juice up my creativity glands:

SOMA FM SF 10-33: “Ambient music mixed with the sounds of San Francisco public safety radio traffic.” https://somafm.com/sf1033/

By the time I’m ready to break fast, it’s 1 or, more likely, 2, PM. But before my main repast of toast and tea (Twining’s Black Currant Breeze, BTW), I make a smoothie out of the following ingredients: 1 large or medium banana, two packets of Sweet ‘N Low, a scant tablespoon of Hershey’s Cocoa Powder, 2 tablespoons of either Adams 100% Natural Creamy Peanut Butter, or Tarazi Tahini, and a tall glass of Berkeley Farms 2% Milk (not necessarily organic, depending on that week’s budget).

Once I’m done with the smoothie, Taco & Wiley are ready to go out again. So, about twenty minutes will have passed between smoothie and toast with tea. So today, as I brewed the tea and broke out the bread, I realized that I’m almost out of cream cheese! In such incidents (when I’ve forgotten something to purchase from earlier in the day) I leave the pooches at home, and hurry on down to Morey’s corner liquor, sundry and grocery store two blocks up on Noe Street. But today I brought them with, as they seemed all perky and ready for some street action again, which I guess is thanks to the warmer weather.

On our walk back hovel, Wiley pulled on her leash to sniff around the temporary wooden stage built beyond the curb, for the Mediterranean restaurant’s outdoor seating. I could see why, what with all the yummy food scents! But the next thing I know, she had snatched a chicken bone between her jaws, and refused to part with it. I tried opening those tiny jaws to extract it, but her clench was fierce, and no way would I want to break those little jaws! I was beyond coaxing, as it wasn’t having any results. The best I could do was maintain a firm grip on one end of the bone, between thumb and two fingers. I tried rubbing her nose, and blocking her nostrils with my free hand…but nothing worked!

Then I realized that Jeffrey’s Natural Pet Foods store was just thirty feet away, and the moment one of the employees stepped out, I could summon her over to size up the situation, whereby she’d quickly return with a leather treat, for which Wiley would open those jaws, and I could recover the chicken bone. But a minute or so passed, and no one did, not even a customer! That is when I decided to nudge her over to the shop door, so I could holler for some help. Thus, with my right hand still gripping down on the bone, I used my left hand on the leash to gently pull her forward. Meanwhile, Taco was quietly standing by my side, with his own leash also in my left hand.

Well, Wiley resisted all the way, so it took over another minute to budge her just several feet. I did NOT want her to have that bone, as it could splinter between her teeth; she might swallow it and choke to death. Then, just like that, she let go!

The rest of the day has been much better.

  • Zeke

6 Responses to Letter to the Landlord (part 1)

  1. […] two or three days from now,” whispers the little pterodactyl ghost in my ear, referring to my letter to the landlord that I mailed out just four days ago. Though perhaps they HAVE received it, considering that […]

  2. […] two or three days from now,” whispers the little pterodactyl ghost in my ear, referring to my letter to the landlord that I mailed out just four days ago. Though perhaps they HAVE received it, considering that […]

  3. […] Anyway, this was all covered in great detail in my Brindlekin Tales, particularly in THIS piece (chapter 4, book 2). […]

  4. […] against me, both via video and a hostile letter he taped to my door and SIGNED. Not to mention my letter of complaint to Ablahblah […]

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