Drunk on White Claw again. Only kidding. I am not on the Claw. But I did walk twelve miles--and imbibe a hot cider--to get the blood flowing once more. Listened to the Clash's London Calling, half of Deutsche Grammophon's 100 Christmas Masterworks, Jimmy Smith's Christmas Cookin', and Dean Martin's Winter Romance. Those are some fine Christmas records. And a fine punk double album, obviously. Also acquired four cucumbers and found three pine cones for Hallway Hermey. Petted several dogs. Smiled at several children. Passed the same man three times. The third time he said, "You walk fast, motherfucker." I wished him the best of the season. He had a Santa hat on. And also may have consumed something stronger than the Claw.