Drink It In

The main thing for me tonight was experience and the way it looked.

First time I noticed was in the parking lot of the liquor store on 4th, I guess, when a shaft of sunlight opened up a blade in the sky; Bob Hall lamented that we were not in Myrtle Edwards Park and while I shared his aspiration, I had no complaints; in any case, we both agreed that Seattle goes easy on the eyes.

Then, it was all about noticing how the drawbridge opening brought us all together; that gave me the courage to ride figure-eights on the bridge (why the fuck not, there’s nothing coming in the other lane) passing the time pleasurably.

Next, as we rolled down towards the 7-11, I seem to recall me and Shannon noticing how ironic was the loveliness of what we were seeing combined with the knowledge that those waters aren’t as lovely as the look.

But eventually, it was the colors of hotdogs before discovering Jack Block park, where Daniel Featherhead flew and I first got punched in the nuts by Derrick.

That place is magical. The view it commands and the time it would take to get to you make me feel safe, even though I know escape would the problem.

Visually, the cartoon panorama of lights from Magnolia way past SODO sticks hardest.

Emotionally—when all was well—was when Ben got high, at least for me, and later, when the prone Stick Man said his name.

On our way to karaoke, a bunch of us hung out in a spot would we never have been in were it not for bikes; a freeway underpass is an environment worth looking at.

A Goldie’s, I enjoyed seeing others sing so much I wanted to try it myself.

And because I’ve actually given some thought to this, I sang Whip It.

That was fun, right up there with the ride home, yet another feast for the eyes.