Beans for Breakfast

I’m out on the roof of an apartment building in Belltown, sitting around a table crowded with paper plates, ketchup bottles, and strangers. We’re eating barbecued burgers. We’re losing sunlight, and the dark clouds are getting more ominous. I refrain from pointing out that it’s probably going to start raining any minute. . .

The day after Someday

Tom suggested that, for my 500th entry, I “illustrate one of [my] favorite things-seen-and-overheard posts.” JR seconded the idea: One Thursday, a couple of months ago, I spent a good chunk of the day on an errand, waiting at ferry terminals and riding back and forth across Puget Sound. The entry I wrote about that day came out clearer-headed (and more syntactically correct) than most. These are some more photos from that day.

“That’ll be nine dollars.”

She hands over the money and says, “I’m a stoner.”

The counter guy stands there and looks at the money, trying to decide the significance of this new information.

. . . Someone in the apartment above me started playing the saxophone, I don’t know who it was. The sax player hesitated at the start of the song, but found a comfortable tempo soon enough and went with it. Now I was kind of sweeping in time to the music – but not in a really obvious way, because across the hall someone was shifting clothes around between washers and dryers and I didn’t want to call attention to myself. . .