beatnikside

Photos from around Ballard. The "Up" house is Edith Macefield's. By the time I got these shots, many of the balloons had popped in the wind.

I am at (name deleted) coffee in downtown Seattle, catching my breath. Today has been non-stop running from 10 a.m., when I paid a fairly unremarkable visit to the dentist, to five minutes ago, when the girl at the counter half-heartedly flirted with me. The young things who work the counters at these places generally don't talk to me, but this one asked me questions above and beyond the usual -- what'cha listening to on your iPod? Where'd you get that t-shirt? Are you a writer? -- and I have to admit I was puzzled by her interest until I remembered that I had Lorien dye my hair yesterday, leaving only the gray streak in the front and the salt-and-pepper at my temples. If I had an unruly lumberjack beard, she might even have asked my name.

Anyway, I'm doing all right. Miffed about this California bullshit, but I don't live there anymore. Work is either picking up or fixing to blow up in my face; such is the life of a freelancer. The weather in Seattle is still gorgeous, and the weather in my head is mostly sunny. And now, my dears, I'm gonna pick up my girl at her job and get her drunk.