Today at Lung Fung I had a one sided conversation myself,  with the Lung Fung lady.
I spoke and she responded: 'yah, yah, yah. Yah, yah, yah, ok, yah...' But to treasure it!

Thoughts on last night:  "Return of St. Patrick's drunken like coming home, third chromosome"
The late night hours of all the town and cab bar and alley strange banter and laughter comes home to the kitchen. And the kitchen is like a sonorous reverberating definer of all syllables and snickers from within it. If one wishes, the major aspects of a conversation can be pieced together with alarming contiguity from the foreign realms of the neighboring rooms.

From under a blanket for fear of strangers voices without, I heard too, entertaining talk. An educated man stood near my bed and spoke about a fancy piano, "with pickups on every key", in an annoying accent that made him tedious to listen to. He used the English term 'if I allow myself to make myself clear'. There was a mousy voiced girl that sounded sober, and uninteresting, as she deflected the insinuations of third chromosome.

After a while it all was quiet as the creaky stairs let them out and then, the loud wham of the door slamming, without anger shut. Today morning flowed into afternoon in one quick invisible motion. Rainy Evening, perfect night for a cold one at the Blue Fin. Yaah right.