When it's nice out there's only one place I want to be--the beach.
And when I'm at
beach, there's nowhere else I want to be. It's
a moment of perfect ease. A dry 80 degrees, there was still snow
at the tips of
Olympics across the water. Adria, Jesse, and I took
a very slow roll to Golden Gardens with stops for post office, beer, and
bourbon. Soon after we landed on the scorching sand we were joined by
Bert and Jed. Everyone comes to the beach. It's the most mixed crowd
Seattle has to offer, much like the blender that is New York's Central
Meadow, groups here don't mingle much, which is fine,
Sound more than anything that brings us here, arm of the
ocean to be seen, smelled, heard, and embraced.