After a fashion, you could imagine the place was telling you to fuck off.
Go on then, so you think you can do better? The walls cave in, destroy your art books, ruin your fancy pasta, as has happened everywhere you’ve ever lived. And this time is different how?
So you leave one city for another.
Now you don’t have a steady job but you smell trees wherever you go. Even the trash here smells like the woods, it doesn’t rain all the time, and out your kitchen window the antenna towers of Queen Anne blink like festive twins. Why did no one tell me about the big fake tree of lights that gets planted atop the Space Needle?
Snow is expected Thursday night.
If your apartment begins bleeding dirty water, beware, you could end up in Seattle, freezing, happy.