|
Monday |
|
 |
Went for a walk with Kelly today. Her dad drives dump trucks. She spent her last day in Oregon with him picking up and dropping off dirt. They packed a lunch, Ding Dongs for desert. We walked through Fred Meyer and over the Ballard Bridge, a boat in dry dock named Royal American. The marine testing lab had a distinctly X-Files feel, and not far from it was a hidey-hole typical of Seattle where street people can find a bit of privacy on a thicket's musty mat--the kind of place Charles Burns wistfully recalled at Confounded Books signing on Sunday. An educational display I mistook for sculpture explained the unpoplar practice of depoplarating the banks of the canal, a sign reminding us that even trees do die, with spans equal to a human life, though at much greater heights. |
