So I'm in Seattle for the first time in 5000 years--I was last here in 1993 maybe, I think, or maybe 1995 or 6--and last night Barb and I hung out with her friend Brenda, who lives in this wondrous converted brewery in a sweeping raw space filled with art and antique compasses and Brenda's this slip of a thing with this sweet high girly voice but she can build herself a motorcycle and wire a space with electricity and do things with drywall and concrete and on top of that she can fly ultralight planes and one time she made an emergency landing in a pasture full of cows. The three of us hung out and ate tater tots, which mysteriously seem to be very popular here, and then went to this glamorous Dietrich-y bar where we met up with Barb's very sweet and musicianly friend Brian and my rugged and writerly friend Layne and proceeded to have much fun. Brian was gonna put Barb and me up but I have relocated myself to a HoJo's near the airport, on a strip of highway lined with little motels that look like good places to murder people in and restaurants with signs advertising cocktails, due to Brian's catly ways. I do love me a cheap motel though, I always have and always will.

Here is evidence of all wrongdoing:










The end.