I’m laid over in SeaTac, about a half hour from where I was a blithering idiot 20-something.
Hapless goober though I was, I somehow managed to put some pieces together, and now enjoy a life my niece and nephew dub “cool,” which is, of course, the height of praise.
Seattle’s a different place from when I left. Hipster food, which was always expensive, is now nosebleed expensive, and a weird amalgamation of douche and NPR-based economies vie for Patagonia’d dominance.
Such is the way of things, I suppose, and people with F-you money engaging in whose-dick-is-bigger shenanigans.
But I hope, rather than becoming a playground for artisanal-cheese-addicted tech transplants, that the city I love remains a safe haven for lunatics and weirdos who have a tendency to change the world.