Tonight I went to a nice little dinner party thrown by David Speyer and Erin Larkspur. Fun was had by all, and Erin's pie crust was as good as advertised.

Anyway, I was biking there done cragmont, a little side road in the berkeley hills. There's no one but me on the road for nearly the whole ride. But at some point I see this very old man with skinny legs scurrying with small steps accross the road off in the distance. As I get closer I see that he has a tweed jacket and is carrying a single ski pole (which he wasn't actually using as a walking stick, that would have made too much sense) and has dark socks going up to his knees.

It is about at this point that I realize that he has no pants.