Tuesday
|
||
 |
 |
 |
| I've spent the last three years living at intersections. In Baltimore it was Artists' Housing at the corner of N. Caroline and E. Baltimore Streets, just spitting distance from The Block, where every night was a duet of garden crickets and projects gunshots. I was to be an extra on Homicide but then I moved to NYC, 71st and 1st where one morning I thought the furnace had exploded but it turned out to be only a taxi. Now it's Seattle, 39th and Fremont Avenue North, up a steep alley from the self-proclaimed Center of the Universe, at a starfish intersection where every day I witness a collision from our ground floor bedroom where I sit and write this. But not for long. Thanks to a serendipitous meeting with our building manager Jason in his new used $300 Prelude outside Marketime a few weeks ago we got first dibs on a superdeluxe top-floor unit in our three-story suburban apartment house so gracious it even has a name, albeit one reminiscent of a graveyard—Woodlawn South. |