My toes are chilly, stuffed in the end of the chocolate couch as I watch the moon rise through the blinds. It's surrounded in a ring of haze, typical stuff of the Northwest this time of year. The day was clear and sunny, a bit cold in the shade and sitting waiting for the bus.

Nikki and I watched with eagerness as a mother and daughter tied up their basset hound, aptly named Potato. Potato wanted to go eat Asian food with his family, and looked up at every passerby to see if maybe THEY would let him in.

"Come on guys. Come on. Let me in.
I want to see my family. Now.
Now. Now. .. No, now. Please. Please. Now."

He wanted to sniff the tiny long-haired dauchsunds that slid easily across the sidewalk, not nearly as eager as Potato.

I was visually distracted, though, as I tend to get on the streets here, gazing at the wild colors folks wear, the speedy bicycles they ride, the eccelectic feel of each neighborhood. There's always something unexpected, some totally weird occurence... and there always seem to be more of those when taking the bus. Last night on the Max we saw some teen's hilarious business-card pickup move. We murmured about the couple murmuring in our direction. I stared at the city lights' reflections as we crossed the river going downtown. My giddy fascination with transit is still so prominent. Call me a hick from Tennessee, but I love it.

My dreams have been particularly wild the past few nights, one of which involved dropping my backpack and laptop off a cliff. I wasn't really afraid of falling off the cliff myself though. Stressful shit on the edge? Too much baggage? Definitely.

OK, boneheads. Enough drudgey talk.