Seattle has its idiosyncrasies. It’s what makes this city unique. It’s what gives the city its specific “feel.”
In general, we don’t use umbrellas. We’re more a head-down-and-face-the-weather sort of town.
In general, we’re polite and courteous. Drop your wallet and chances are someone will help you retrieve it (9 out of 10 times, according to a Reader’s Digest study). We say good morning and thank you to the bus driver. We rarely honk our horns at each other, except for a polite little “bip” when the guy in front hasn’t noticed the light’s turned green.
And, in general, we don’t jaywalk. As evidence of this, I supply a recent video that shows Seahawks fans waiting for the light to turn green before they cross the street to revel in their team’s recent victory over the Broncos.
It’s pissing down rain in Seattle. The lecherous wind tugs and young women’s skirts as they tick-tock their high-heeled way to work, and the few who bothered with umbrellas wish they’d left them at home. The sky is locked down in gunmetal grey and the sun is a dim memory, consumed by the overhead drear. It’s already been a long work-week for me, having put in three days’ worth before the end of Day Two, and I haven’t slept well for worrying about my family, still roiling from our matriarch’s recent death.
All Saint’s Day. All Hallows. All Hallows’ Evening. Hallows Even. Hallowe’en. Halloween.
Unraveling Time
Desert Wind
Ploughman's Son
Ploughman King
The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
Shadow of the Storm
The Cry of the Wind
Beneath a Wounded Sky
Cryptogenesis: A Memoir
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 