No one tries to engage me in a triple tongue-kiss, and I start to wonder if this town has lost its edge. Maybe it's me, losing my alcohol. My mother phones to say my cat of 14 years is dying from cancer. Decide to dedicate a Dusty Springfield song to it this weekend. Cadge a lift to Olympia direct from the stonecutters.
Endless cars rest sullenly underneath the mystical mountain.
I glance back at Seattle's skyline and note that it's smudged over, like a graying, decaying print of the Emerald City.