the seattle shoe bandit strikes again
It was a beautiful, bluebird Monday in Seattle: Late morning, Oliver Fern and I rode the bus downtown to visit his mother at work. After her time for lunching expired, he and I headed to Pike Place Market for a visit to The Miniature Car Dealer and to get a humongous chocolate chip cookie. We stopped at Second and Pike for quite some time to ogle the enormous construction pit a hundred feet down in the Earth. I told Oliver not to stare at the welder’s flame and in our peripheral vision a handful of gentlemanly drug deals took place in the alley behind. While we waited at Third Avenue for the 43 to take us home the chocolate chip cookie was consumed piecemeal, very methodically, and I marveled at the sheer number of passengers who flick their cigarettes into the curb lane just before boarding and imagined Oliver and I exploding Looney-Tunes style hundreds of feet into the air as a Metro bus dripped some-sort of flammable lubricating fluid onto the flickering nicotine. A well-liked neighbor got on the bus before we left downtown and she and I chatted about life, all the way to our side of the hill. Oliver Fern fell asleep and catnapped for probably ten or fifteen minutes (i woke him up at our stop). She was running errands but admitted to rarely venturing downtown and feeling like a hillbilly and I chuckled inside because I wondered what hillbillies are like in China, she grew up in a Beijing high-rise.
We took the boys for a long, very mossy walk in the Cascades yesterday and their mom had tender feet afterward because she wore a pair of beaten-up, flubbery old sneakers. The morning of the hike we would discover the notorious Seattle shoe bandit swapped out a grubby pair of his (“he” has apparently been caught on video) shoes for her trail shoes that had been sitting on the back porch. We have an alcove off the back door that serves as the de facto mud room, we stack the boys’ dirty boots and shoes for ease of coming-and-going. The shoe bandit apparently strikes in the early morning hours. Because I wear a size 15 I’ll continue to keep my shoes at the backdoor with no reservations although part of me does wonder what clown shoes fetch on the black market.