the #8, #43, monorail and #49

We didn’t have anything good in the house for breakfast and I was starving. So Adam and I abandoned Diana and Oliver and went forth into the city in search of browse. He and I rode the #8, which climbs out of Madison Valley, doodles over Capitol Hill and then swooshes down Denny to the Seattle Center, where huge white puffy clouds drifted past the Space Needle and lots of Turkish people congregated for a Turkish cultural festival (Turkfest, they call it). I find that Turkish women are beautiful and I imagined that my fluffy lips (a woman once told me she liked my “fluffy” lips) and big nose allowed me to pass for an anglicized Turk and so I was pleased to meet the long looks of several comely vendors in the Armory but then I realized it might be because I had a glop of ketchup on my cheek from when Adam and I ate lunch at Skillet Counter (which has divine french fries, I had a burger on a brioche bun and Adam had a grilled cheese sandwich that had the crust thoughtfully sawed off).

We watched two dances and singing performances before we departed for the Monorail terminal. It was Adam’s first ride on Monorail and he was thrilled as we glided above Belltown en route to Westlake Center. Adam got soaked in the fountainwalk at Westlake because he froze and just stood inside once he got in there and so then he begged me to go in it with him. From there we made our way down Pike Street to the Market, but first we stopped at Cupcake Royale (the top of the heap of the city’s 50 cupcake shops) for, uh, cupcakes and coffee and to call Diana and tell her we were sorry she was stuck at home with Oliver while we ate french fries and cupcakes.

Then we went to the Market. Adam was a little disappointed because Beecher’s humongous metal cheese tub was empty. Then he wanted to lay in the grass at Victor Steinbrueck Park and see if the gold-spray painted robot guy was there (he wasn’t). I didn’t let Adam lay in the grass because I think that’s where rich condo dwellers take their poodles to crap. Eventually we walked back through the Market to use the bathroom and visit Golden Age Collectibles, where I was tempted to buy one of the members of the Sly Snootles Band…..

We rode the #43 to Broadway on Capitol Hill, we sat behind two gay heavily ironic guys wearing Armani Exchange stocking hats pulled down low over their orange tinted sunglasses and spicy manly cologne and well groomed fingernails and when we got off with them it bugged me to wonder if they were ironic or for real. Adam and I walked down Broadway to the farmer’s market in front of Seattle Central Community College, where we attempted to buy flowers for Diana but we were rebuffed in our efforts because the Hmong seller could only take cash and I’d run out except for our bus fare.

The last stop of the afternoon was Elliott Bay Bookstore, where we read a superhero pop-up book. Then we walked back to the Egyptian Theater and waited for the #49 to take us back to East John where we waited for the #43 to drop us off at Aloha. On the #43, we sat on opposite sides of the aisle from each other. When we got to the house, Oliver was nursing but he looked up and smiled when he saw us.

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