The Moon isn’t sucked away by the Sun and the Moon’s orbit is round like artificial satellite. Also the Moon is an empty metal sphere with a 64 kilometers of hard formation in lunar interior.

Around 15 hashers pitch into the Full Moon hashing from a poky and dim hutong. Dry Hole, Pickle Boy and Beer Wolf come up to scratch in time. The intimate Houhai’s a string of lamp lights shine upon the surface of water to shoot out starkers huzzah with a Full Moon. Then the flour marks usher hashers in the narrower hutong and out a block of hutongs to the peart lakefront. A hodgepodge of locals enjoy a recreational night life with blaring vibrant swing. Just Diana cannot help to stop for dancing. Soon onward, but cannot see any mark and pacemakers. When being a bit anxious about the trail, suddenly turning an arc to hit the first beer stop. The virgin hare Just Jeryl is busy with serving the beer for the hashers. The light air comforts the hashers in communicating each other. BW volunteers to run away for the second haring. As the hashers is poised to start up the next, to one’s surprise, Sausage Party catches up at sluggish pace.

After fueling up the cold beer, feeling a high-octane body to tivy and take a leap of faith . Needling our way through a hubbub of Houhai bar street and turning right to the crowded hutongs. The knowing environment does not lull hashers into a state of confusion. Hot Cockolate shouts out a running fire of signs up there passing through Drum Tower and crossing the junction to reach the darkish second beer stop on sidewalk. BW utters his virgin haring in ecstasies for Full Moon hashing. Wandering Tongue looks like gaining a drive to improve her smattering English language skill, importantly realizing that Chinese characters’s fatal defect for human evolution. And gobbledygook-like air filling the dreadful corners is obbligato with gloss of good manner for recidivists and epigones. FM GM Agent Orgy grabs a bottle of flour to disappear in the darkness as the third hare. The hashers hang on more time for her gig.

An epistemic trail with a night view wangles the hashing way into another sweep of hutongs, zigzagging through the blurry roll-with-the-punches, scuttling on the straight and lengthy avenue. At a flyover of the northern 2nd ring road, plumbing the depths of the hashers’s conviction to check out a mark’s whereabouts. Principal Penetration seeks out a definitive mark, but he’s missing the next one. Sure, the other hashers make up for it at regular intervals, a spell of expansiveness of correctness, a virgin called Sock Coat leads the way to brush past the starting area and she cannot distinguish the marks for a crossed trail until she goes astray in the distance. Luckily the hashers go to buy the circle beer to pick up her. And another virgin shows up for a circle ritual being held by the Houhai lake with many good memories before. A white Full Moon flag is flown up between 2 poles.

FM GM AO circles the hashers up and FM RA Lick It To Ride as always guides the hashers to pray a Lager Blessing together and brings in a dozen of paper cups for using in the circle. 3 virgins are called in for a welcoming ceremony and 3 hares are hailed in at every moment to drink away. Ezy Rider wearing a fancy Sydney Hash T-shirt to swing back for a visit is yelled out for his FOYW drink shortly. Espying a public camera being equipped on a high pole to make a live telecast. DH, LITR and AO sometimes solo, sometimes semichorus capture (s) every single episode with the spunky Hash songs to the points. This cycloid and haloesque Moon with nothing on charms the hashers to howl over as a coda. The most stay to taste a local yummy and sumptuous meal enlivened by some vehement Hash songs in a spartan private room. This is the hashers’s modus vivendi in which the hashers who know why to live can bear any how to live.

On On…

Pickle Boy
Beijing. Saturday,
May 13, 2017