this used to be my hour, man- I'd be just getting off work and blearily grocery shopping among the stockers with their transistor radios, my scrubs splattered with crusty animal effluvia. driving home, I was often the only car on the Aurora bridge. sometimes I'd see possums staggering through manicured yards. when I worked in Wallingford and lived on First Hill I'd take the night bus. one time a drunken dude sitting behind me played with my hair without my permission.
I loved feeling like Seattle was my personal playground. daytime can just be too predictable and crowded. when I stopped working swings and started living a diurnal existence, I was amazed by how many fucking people actually exist in this city.
now it's just quiet and dark. I love the smell of the night. I love wondering what the few people out are up to. thoughts are different and more loaded now. what's that adage- nothing good happens at 3am?
salt and pepper shakers at my parents' house.
12th Ave.
say "fern fronds" five times fast.
baby spiders! *claps hands gleefully*
the darling little shit isn't supposed to be on the ledge.
she loves that fucking toy.
my former lair. the airstream is back in front of my old window and the blinds were tightly closed on a beautiful day. hahaha! fuck that place.
Belltown fauna.
"I found that the more I thought, the more details, half-forgotten or malobserved, floated up from my memory. there seemed no end to them.
"so I learned that even after a single day's experience of the outside world a man could easily live a hundred years in prison. he'd have laid up enough memories never to be bored. obviously, in one way, this was a compensation."
-Camus
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