Graham lives above the mess. He says his ears ring constantly. Sometimes they start at 4 a.m., although on Sundays they're gracious enough to wait until 7. Cars are smaller than a baby's finger-nail. The Columbia Tower is the size of an index finger.
People zigzagging down side-walks are specks, obliterated with a pinch.
Phil Stoiber stands atop a ladder, dusting the top of a heavy gilt frame with a fine, soft brush. In a Seattle Art Museum room of towering landscapes by Thomas Moran, Stoiber eyeballs the tiniest varnish scratches in paintings that may measure 12 feet wide, making sure the only flaws are ones previously documented. In a grandiose landscape of thundering waterfalls, he can locate a single missing pinpoint of paint or a wispy paintbrush hair left behind by the artist. A wall of Polaroids inside the Sub Pop Mega Mart at Pike Place Market tells of fame, funk, hope, hype and inglorious glory behind Seattle's best-known alternative record label. Storekeeper Jack Dourakos remembers when Beck walked in and posed.