37 Quite cosmo in cabana clothes

Dapper Drew had gotten his sea legs, so to speak, by walking and standing on dry land instead of a crib mattress now close to an hour. As mentioned earlier, he was quite the cosmo little lad in cabana clothes, at ease and beaming amid the bold chalkmarks and natural light of the Plip Plop Coffe Shop. And Aunt Kar, despite a world of cares, was sleek and sexy, sexy, sexy.
The other baby calmed down. The high sign and wink between him and baby Drew were a lock, a clear space by his euphoric family’s chimerical dance of attendance upon him. Drew noticed, and thought perhaps this might be someone besides Aunt Kar who was reliable. Granny Guss, he felt, had been prescient with her gift of the flyswatter, however offhand; but she was lost to the world most of the time. The rest of the family was grandiose, inadequate, or crazy, or a blend. Of course, these pensees were mostly in proto-language, despite the giant step forward he’d taken by telling the importunate bicyclist to get lost, and intuitive more than analytic.
The Frisco Ninja, who’d shucked blue boat shoes and landed like the Lone Ranger on City Hall’s deer statue, then disguised himself perfectly for the time of day as a graduate student on leave of absence. Dissembling fluently, he looked askance to the point of exasperation for no reason and placed a day pack on the chair beside him, and a notebook on the table top. His pants zipper was undone, but cleverly was in place none the less. It was not the intention to offend, but to make the disguise complete with a display of chronic distraction. From this vantage point where none would suspect he was other than he appeared, observation in the Plip Plop Coffe Shop could be undertaken per the instructions of his kind but exacting employer, Ross Valley. Object: baby Drew.


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