The Two Oh Six
I’m not “from” Seattle. I’m from Sumner, which you did not know was even a town. Then I was from Spokane, which we moved to because my father was working out of a train yard over there. After we moved, he started “getting stationed” near Sumner. So the facts were all there, if you were conscious; if you could perceive them as being facts.
I mentioned Fremont last time - the funny story about Fremont is that there isn’t very much of it. People are very defensive of it as a result. But when I first moved here I lived in West Seattle, where the rats were, if you’ve been reading that long. I had to pick up Brenna in Fremont once, and I was so uncalibrated to the scale of this place that I thought I was downtown. That’s not downtown, it’s a couple fucking blocks. But it was dark, and bright, and rainy, so my mind unfolded that fractal and made from it a town.
I didn’t actually understand what it was like to love the place you were from, that seemed like a weird thing to love. I’ve never chosen my town, anyway. Moving to Seattle was a prerequisite for marriage, and I believed - largely correctly - that I live way too deep in my own head to notice where I store my barely animated husk.
I occasionally raise periscope, though, in moments of relative safety, and when I see some holistic arugula or whatever I’m glad of the phytonutrients. It’s a good place for your clutch to pupate, indeed, effectively gating the various forms of stimulation is the challenge. There’s something for people do here besides Meth, using it or making it, which is more than I can say for the last town.
Seattle does have an insufferable, conspicuous superiority complex. But it knows about the complex, understands that it is perpetually engaged in a thoroughly porous bit of mythmaking. Seattle is a tragedy, essentially; I’ve always been fond of the form.