Right, right, yeah, not much to say today. Seattle is awash in slush that will probably freeze into an indestructable crust by morning. Billions of people on the bus, the slush on their shoes melting and puddling in the aisles, crashing back and forth as the bus went up and down the hills of town, little breakers, tidal movements in the back of a Sand Point-bound #74 flowing under everyone's feet, glazed eyes bundled in wet wool and slick vinyl, straight ahead or out the window or deep in a book. The guy who crowded on next to me was all of nineteen, blonde, hip, startled when I "Pardon me" 'd him to get off at my stop. Dunno why it matters.

Oh yeah, couple days ago, this bike messenger guy who rides from the U District to Seattle Center, bullshitting with a friend of his, noticed that he had a hook hand.

Figure he only uses one set of brakes.