A pumpkin bit me (or something like that), and I had to get stitches. A trailer hitch bit my car, and I had to get the license plate mount stitched back on.
Two men lean in toward each other over different sized coffee cups. One is smoking – he’s losing his hair in the back. The other one’s hair is receding from the front. They have the same British face and the same notched nose. The smoker points at the other with his cigarette to emphasize a point, the other points at his brother’s coffee cup. They’re perched on the edge of too short chairs, looking like pigeons, but in a good way.
On Friday: Two women crouch down outside The Aquarium in the late afternoon, rocking back and forth and leaning down toward the outside wall, praying to Mecca. (They’re facing north, and not east.)
On Saturday: A woman, smartly dressed in a nice skirt and sweater, hair up in a tight efficient ‘do, slips past on a skateboard. She leans in to make an effortless left turn from the street and up onto the sidewalk. No foot touches the ground.
There’s a guy that I’ve seen on Broadway a few times recently – in his 20s, blonde and chubby. He always wears the same green homemade costume. I’m pretty sure that I recognize it as Zelda‘s costume. Yesterday I saw him silently heckling a group of security guards standing outside Seattle Central Community College. Zelda had drawn the baseball bat he carries in his behind the shoulder sheath and was performing video game-style fencing moves – not in the security guards’ direction, but clearly for their benefit. The security guards refused to even look in his direction.
The trunk is tied down over a stack of long Ikea boxes that jut a few inches out from the back of the car. Otherwise the boxes fit perfectly, filling almost the entire volume of the back of the car. I feel like a genius because if we’d gotten any more pieces, they wouldn’t have fit and, at the last minute, I decided to two fewer bookcases than I’d originally planned.
A police car starts tailing us shortly after we get off the freeway in Seattle. This makes me nervous. It’s a flash of Catholic guilt – feeling bad about doing something wrong, even though you’re not sure what you might have done. Perhaps I’m afraid that I’ll get pulled over for original sin and I won’t have my baptism certificate on me. The cop shoots a short honk at me, prompting me to claim a free right turn on red. He continues to trail us after the turn and just before he turns off at the police station, I notice that his trunk is hanging open too. It’s just flapping around behind him.
Later, Samantha and I put together her bookcases. Her hammer is tiny, and I joke that using it makes me feel a little effeminate. But when I get home and it comes time to put together my bookcases, my own hammer seems awkward and clumsy – like a giant clown hammer – and I think I’d rather have Samantha’s girly hammer.
You looked like you could use another photo of the waterfront. No? Maybe it’s just me.