Once This Man had made it to John's house and after I'd shared my story of torture at the hands of the doctor on duty at Scripps Mercy, John told me about his trip to Las Vegas. He'd taken his niece to Vegas for her 18th birthday (how cool is that). Then he presented me with a souvenir.

Quite possibly one of the--if not, the coolest souvenir that I've ever gotten from anybody. It's too cute to so much as flick an ash into it. It brings to mind a story that I'll share.
One Saturday, John and This Man went strolling through Hillcrest (for lunch and to grab some bread and pastries from Bread et Cie) and on our way back to his house, we passed a woman who was walking a small Yorkshire terrier.
"Hello princess, " I leaned down and said to the petite dog. Instantly, she sat and looked up at me.
"Wow!" The Yorkie's owner said. "She never does that."
"That's because she recognizes royalty when she sees it." I told her. Both she and John laughed. When we turned the corner onto John's street, This Man said, "It's true. Royalty recognizes royalty. I acknowledged her [the dog] and she knew what to do."

Sitting here, looking at the picture and seeing the actual ashtray to my left, This Man can't help but smile; just like I do whenever I look at the fur that John gave me for my birthday.

Mahalo