M. Lobster and I went to Terrace Park

This is a quiet neighborhood park on the border of Albany and North Berkeley. It has two older tennis courts set under enormous Fir trees, and the court fences are overgrown with ivy. M. Lobster evidently likes this venue: He was hot; he was on a roll; he was in the zone. Hitting corners, firing drives up the alleys, backspin, topspin, sidespin, kickspin. And the whole time talking shit. Things like "Be careful of your rickety old man bones". Uncalled for stuff like that. I don't know.

He has also developed a smirk.