I spent the earlier part of the day walking along a paved path along the water, bright and sunny. I would have preferred to prowl a filthy harbor, a-crawl with giant wharf rats and grizzled fishermen, the weather-grey boards slick in the steady drizzle. But it was all smiles and no slime. Did not match my mood. Have you ever had that dream in which you have finally returned to a place for which you have yearned, but everything is different and Italy looks like Provo, or whatever? Sometimes that's how Seattle makes me feel. I used to miss the water so much, but now I'm a stranger here.
Seattle is also strange. People act funny here. They kind of do what they want, I guess, and seem to be less self-conscious than in other places. They dress how they want, age appropriateness be damned. I guess that's kind of cool. I saw a middle-aged white guy in Greenlake park, teaching a young black guy how to dance on roller skates to hip hop music. Kind of a skeevy, slow sort of roller-dance.
So now I'm perched in the cafe with orange walls, listening to David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust) next to an open window. Next to me, outside of the window, is an old fellow who looks like a regular citizen (without my glasses on), but is betrayed by his street smell of stale perspiration of booze, which wafts through the screen now and then. It's fun to sit here, because I can here his comments to passers by; he's looking for someone from whom he may purchase a cigarette. He begins each query by complimenting some article of clothing, and sometimes he whistles at the women. Seems to be enjoying himself.
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