The traffic lights changed. Waiting drivers honked their horns. The pedestrians, my victims, didn't seem too overly enthused about busting a move and accommodating the motorists. The horns joined by yells and the unveiling of a good half-dozen middle fingers. Seattleites greeting each other.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
The hole in the wall looked about as big as a dinner plate. Game Room dust sifted out and around the rim like a wind blew, picking up and pollinating particle to all points beyond. It was threads of dust, not a thick stream. Not the torrents of red rust I'd seen elsewhere.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Monday, July 17, 2017
Lumbering from Ashton Hospital to The Dirty Dan I put Vise Head though his paces. Snapped his fingers. Moved his whiskered, punch-dented lower jaw back and forth. Made him say, "I'm Batman," about a dozen times. Spit. Hopped up and down. Even spanked that butt. I was good. Whatever I commanded, he did.
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Some inhabitants worked, either in town or out on farms, some were too deeply enmeshed in therapy or rehab to focus on work or anything other than emotional or physical healing. And some walked the sun-blasted lawn all day long smoking and looking at their cell phones, like a preview of a poorly funded Heaven where you could exist, but mostly just subsist on a steady stream of nicotine and data.