none of my business

seattle.

a sky as dark as any night in the north across the globe ­ a darkness that suppresses any notion that warm weather is on its way. the stars in the sky, i walked home from a basement bar in downtown seattle, not two blocks from Pikes Market with its vintage 1950s era signage. a good half-hour before midnight on a thursday night, and seattle is sleepy, depressed. the homeless stake out the spaces between street corners, and pushers hang out just a few steps away from major intersections. sanitized downtown – corporate restaurants, banks, niketown - as intimate as a hospital.

i assume my urban disposition on the hurried promenade up First Hill, on my way to Capitol Hill. it’s a chilly night, and I want to get ‘home.’

in the aforementioned underground tavern, a woman in her fifties, wearing a silk muumuu, cherry red and just a touch beyond graceful retirement, held court on stage, alternating incarnations as bartender and chanteuse, the latter finding her hamming it up for a sparse audience entirely made up of thirtysomethings. she pulled off covers of Ella Fitzgerald and other jazz covers, and dedicated a few songs to the guest of honour, our beloved friend gerstenberger (with her spectacular fang as the exclamation point to a dazzling smile) who was celebrating her 33rd birthday. fang‘s friends showed up, all forty of them, and proceeded to croon along with the venue’s resident torch singer. occasionally, the birthday girl would hop on stage and belt out a number, most notably a less than sober version of “my way.”

beyond the cheap drinks and lo-fi atmosphere, there was a bit of emotional clutter in the air, so I took to the streets, fortified by a double maker’s mark on the rocks, and headed away from the waterfront uphill, across the freeway overpass – must be a tempting option for the suicidally inclined – up to Capitol Hill – the quaint boutiques and vistas overlooking the city. seattle seems like a nice town, a bit lost, a bit depressed, but then again, doesn’t that describe a traveler’s general state of being after being away from home for too long?

now, i am in the apartment - home – i sit by the window, the laptop on the tabletop, a view of downtown seattle to my right, the illuminated space needle in the distance ­ a grey housecat in the foreground: he comes with the apartment, his name is peanut.

being here, in this cold, seaside city, on a winter’s night, without impending morning obligations, I just want to drink coffee and write all night listening to music, rock music, guitar driven rock music.

I’m staying in little larry‘s apartment, and she’s not here, so I can play the music very loud and I don’t care about the neighbors ­ who are the neighbors? they are not my neighbors. so, the music is loud, and I will write until I fall asleep and drink cheap american beer and cheap american coffee.”so, I walk right up to you. and you walk all over me. and I ask you what you want. and you tell me what I need.”

stupid pop song.

soon, I will be home, really home. copenhagen bound.

take me somewhere nice.

in a couple of days, i will be airborn again, heading north across the arctic. 35,000 feet above the ground, beneath a star-filled sky, i will look outside the window and notice the northern lights within arm’s reach, undulating before me in jade greens and incandescent blues. light energy created by the sun, the promise of it all seems light years away.