Milk

A better title might be: "My crazy life."

I was hustling around the house to get ready to go on the street tonight. Had to tank up with gas (yeah, ouch is right) and stop in the store cause I knew I wouldn't remember at midnight. And I did some quick math and figured a gallon of milk would be ok in the car while Fr. Kim and I did our night-time ramble.

Well, it was still waiting for me this morning in the back of my car, a tepid jug of milk. Now I gotta figure how fast to drink it, or just toss it.

It was another fun night - great conversations at TC 3. They assured me that they could be as mono-topical as the people in any bar, we just hadn't hung out enough.

I could listen to the French accent of one resident there all night. Ooo - la - la!

MFQAT (My Favorite Queen Anne Tavern) was so packed - one of the bartenders (someone I don't know, they must never work Thursdays) lost a parent, so it was a wake. Almost too many people for conversation. We talked to a few old friends and moved downtown.

Ran into "GG" outside 3rd and Bell. Nice sober conversation. He thanked me for our work - it has been many years, off and on. He camps out when his wife can't get in, and she does the same for him. They don't mind splitting up, just don't want the other to be outside alone. Sorta sad, sorta sweet, don't you think?

Walking around Belltown is a revelation. First, I felt about 100 years old. Second, I think the drug trade is booming there. Third, some of those girls need to go put some clothes on, or be prepared for old geezers to crumble over.

It seemed like a full night, though we got back at 11:30. Oh well, c'est la vie.