Pike Place Market, a photo series

perch and glow.

oink & cheer.

Oysters and Smoked Salmon.

curve, cross.

"You can't taste the picture love, buy some fish."

Inquiry.

Enter.

"If I wanted snow, I'd go to the mountains. I don't think it needed to snow down here."

wellies & flannel, tucking.

It's been a year since I've been home. The roads are snarled with ice and slush. Cabin fever threatened me. I decided to step out, take it in. Head to the city.

I paused at the stoplight and opened the Seattle Times, "We have a reserve of salt, but we will not use it on the roads and sidewalk. It's bad for the environment." The light turned green, a woman slowed her car and waved me to cross the street. Jarred, I shook my head. She waved again. I crossed. I considered the pools of slush, maneuvered a bit, then trotted towards the boat to Seattle. A few familiar faces approached, sat, asked me about New York.

The boat docked with an unmistakable precision. I walked up Marion Street and across First Avenue to Pike Place Market. I decided to pick up smoked salmon, and oysters, for my family to enjoy at Christmas dinner. I called an old friend. we decided to meet for coffee.

A slight pang of hunger pronounced itself in my stomach. I stepped into Nijo for a roll, and a Wasabi Bloody Mary. Within five minutes, the entire waitstaff, and a few patrons, were my new BFF's. The bartender offered to pack my seafood on ice and gave me a shucking knife. I finished up, headed over to the Owl & Thistle to meet Ryan. The bartender insisted that I take my time and didn't as much as raise a brow when only coffee was ordered. The owner approached, kissed me on the cheek. Asked me of the East Coast.