Food and Woman

There is no “food” in San Francisco. Just—expensive, pretentious cuisine. Nothing for the spirit, the soul.

Consider “The Rustic.”

Sunny, southern California. White walls, Spanish revival—high, rounded archways and stucco. Letters bright blue neon, signs of life.

Serve hand-rolled, hand-cut pasta, Italian unpretentious. “Carbonara Cowboy” and “Marinara Martian.” Water and San Pellegrino…

Palm trees and a gentle breeze.

How much I see! For, the eye of a master—is stronger than his hand.

The attention of a woman—firmer than her touch. Nothing so dangerous as a woman with her mind elsewhere!

Where thoughts go, her body soon follows…