Thursday, November 06, 2008

Ballard's bookstores and cupcake cafes pinch out southwest of town. Past Archie McPhee's red blinking neon sign, low-rise residential slides past in the twilight.

The locks' $5 parking is deserted, save for an idling police cruiser, interior light on. An illuminated cop does paperwork, occasionally sipping from a thermos or flask.

Huge masses of disturbed black air linger over Lynnwood. (The sense of looking deep into Mordor).

The Ship Canal's smooth surface flecked with raindrops. Wet salt-smell in the air.

The rail bridge's elevated trestle descends through the falling dark, silently at first, then settles, creaking and groaning, into place.

A ragged line of seagulls flies fast and low upstream.

Rain, heavier now.

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