oh capitol hill, i thought you killed my emerald city spirit with your drunken hipsterness, with your anti-fashion, with your skinny jeans and skinnier cigarettes. but i'm in seattle this week, and although i was dreading its anonymous chaos, i've actually been comforted. it feels good to be close to the familiar : 1st avenue, rachel's celebrity gossip magazines, the overtly capitalistic department store displays that somehow still inspire an inner-giddiness. and i can't help but flirt with the idea of moving back. i wonder if ballard could be my bellingham, if i could just block out the rest of the city and pretend it didn't exist. i imagine myself working in a french cafe, chatting with businessmen with a pot of coffee in one hand and the other hand on my hip. maybe i'd become a regular at the tractor tavern, tapping my feet to bluegrass while drinking portland pale ale. but i always internalize landscape, and i fear the small-town characteristics of myself would once again fall off like a bracelet, or be silenced by the constant sound of cars on pavement, cars on pavement, cars on pavement.