The weekend tryst in downtown Seattle

Over the weekend J and I ventured down to Seattle to absorb the local fauna.
The hunt began with a picturesque ride on the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle.
The clouds were missing from the day and Seattle revealed itself to us as a voluptuous safari on a continent being sucked off by the flirty Puget Sound.
The captain tooted the blaring horn and the city reverberated a cry back.
It was ready to receive us.
As the inertia kept the vessel drifting ever so softly into the warm embrace of port, the schools of pushy pedestrians crowded at the gate; the din of sloshing and splashing in the holding pen was growing intense.
In the mayhem, someone became disconnected from their tether and another got trampled—it's just the way that goes.
J and I watched the effeminate ferryman withdraw the rope, and we were off.
I'm going to fast forward this story now. At that long winded pace, I'd keep you reading for far too long.
The trip would consist of sleeping in a 1970s hotel in downtown that night, so we headed there first.
Now we knew the hotel would be "adventurous" but I was still unprepared for the accidental and brief glance down through the spacing between the first floor and elevator floor after the attendant gave us our room key.
It led to a world that was still many stories below us and the quick snapshot of a single light bulb fixed on the cracked concrete wall gave me noticeable vertigo.
It was the first indication of many that we might be one of three rooms booked for that night.
Immediately out of the elevator, we glanced at ourselves in a dingy mirror that was 4' long at most and had a wooden handrail fixed about halfway up the mirror...for what I do not know.
The mirror was fixed to the wall but only directly in front of the elevator entrance and I could not help but think that it was placed there to trick the brain in thinking the hallway was wider than it actually was.
This was the second indicator to me that the hotel was cheap for a reason.
Fast forward to the window on the seventh story that had no screen and a fall directly onto a bustling and steep-pitched four-lane street in downtown Seattle.
It felt suicidal to unclasp the lock, so naturally I had to stick my head out.
We unloaded our bags and left the hotel.
There was an underground tour to be had.
Our guide spoke fast and didn't stop.
Okay he would stop occasionally but always to say, "wow...tough crowd."
No one knew he had told a joke.
After the tour we wandered around for some time and went shopping.
I am still disgusted by the enormity of that Macy's.
Seven miserable floors of women's clothing and I know this because we rode the escalator up and down and around until J and I eventually split up.
Later we met my parents and brother at the Crab Pot and had an all too expensive but well worth it dinner.
My father paid and I felt bad for it but he told the group it was worth it just to have us around...so that was nice.
He works hard long hours and I want him to keep his money—maybe buy himself that diesel he drools over.
Fast forward to the Hard Rock Cafe; why the Abercrombie of bars you ask? Because it was convenient.
While seated, I got the vibe that people who drink at that cafe are also the types of people who buy expensive outdoor clothing to claim they are "outdoorsy".
The type of people that keep me from ever purchasing Northfacehole. 
But I digress.
Our very large breasted server was nice and got us plenty of drunk.
Outside the viewing window I happened to see a man walking by with a crafted sign fixed to the front of his shopping cart that read, "Need money to fuck bitches."
He caught me smiling at the language and stopped.
We exchanged that look of "we both know why that sign is hilarious" but secretly I was mouthing that I do not call women "bitches".
Fast forward to the world spinning inside the hotel room and the hot bath and orange tic tacs not helping.
We both collapsed into bed and the night enveloped us like an abused blanket on a strange bed that felt scratchy and had a "Q" penned into a corner.
I woke during the night to the television on and not remembering who turned it on—also the sheets on the bed bunched under my torso and the naked blue and purple cloth of the several-decades-old mattress top caressing my lips.
J was bare and lying next to me in the deepest sleep I have ever witnessed.
The banging in the pipes...that's what really woke me.
It sounded as if Lurch was in the basement and displeased and jealous at the quality of sleep we were enjoying in our Queen-sized bed and began to rap on the pipe with a crescent wrench in protest.
I pictured him bound by shackles and lonely at the bottom of the elevator pit.
The building was steam powered and this is the information I left out of the previous sentence that left you momentarily confused—hopefully all is resolved now.
I needed to pee and drink water, in that specific order, and stumbled back in time onto the set of a Hunter S. Thompson movie in the making.
J had vomited in the tub and in the sink and as I sat on the toilet, I thought about serpents and a drugged up Soman man in a Hawaiian button-up shirt wielding a large kitchen knife to keep me from throwing up—didn't want to waste that delicious meal of salty steamed crab and mouth watering shrimp after all.
The pipe in the corner of the bathroom fed up into the ceiling and I felt the heat radiating from the steel so I reached out to touch the bubbly paint and decided it wasn't a good idea when my fingers got about 1/4'' from the lava source.
It was mesmerizing in the moment but in hindsight I have no idea why.
The room was HOT and I went back to sleep.
We woke up and had breakfast at a small cafe called "Biscuit Bitch" and if you take anything from this posting, I pray that it is to also eat there.
It was the best gluten-free biscuit of my life...also the coffee was delicious...and so were the eggs...and wow was the ham out-of-this-world delicious. 
I've kept you long enough.
Be free unto this word.
Until next time!


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