Seattle, WA

In the underground garage of the Westlake Center, while waiting for the hotel shuttle, I snack on a stale cinnamon roll from Starbucks and make eye contact with a young man in a flannel shirt.

“She looks. She’s staring,”

he says, turning his head to hold my gaze for a moment, before narrowing his eyes and marching past me and into the mall.

July 2009