Just as I reached the bottom of my hill the Blue Angels made a loud noise. I looked up and there was a trail of white leading straight up to the sun. I blinked, decided that was enough airplane showmanship for me, and turned. Right then a bunch of small brown birds exploded upwards from the sidewalk in front of me, as though if I hadn't paused to stare at the sky I would have stepped right on them. I had thought they were leaves.
The size and washing instructions on the shirt I bought at Red Light the week before last are in Japanese. I now assume that they advise against machine drying it, as there isn't much room to move in here anymore.
The men next to me at the lunch counter were flirting with the waitress, making feeble jokes about what sort of sandwich they should get. When she finally sternly told them that she didn't eat meat they paused, unsure if she meant really or euphemistically.
In the market, every third person was taking a picture. Half of the rest were carrying flowers or tasting fruit. Almost everyone was smiling.
The buildings downtown all look like art objects hung against today's perfect blue sky.
I finally made it into the library today. It tends to be closed whenever I remember it.
It feels silly taking pictures inside a library, even one as new and hip and special as ours. The people that noticed me smiled and nodded. The children's room is the only one I felt comfortable in, and I'm pretty sure that Seattle has the coolest dads in the country.
I love coming home to my inconveniently placed apartment, especially when it's moderately clean and sunny, and there are fresh flowers on the table, and my plants are growing. The Space Needle is friendly and smiling at me today.
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