I'm rendered almost paralyzed by the mundane details of existing. I have to go home now.
Today walking back to the office from lunch I took a shortcut through perfect, atmospheric alleys, brick paving underfoot showing through the uneven patches where layers of surface had peeled away, creating a strange jigsaw of bricks and stone and rain puddles. And on either side of the wide alley rose big, old-fashioned brick buildings with arched windows, hung with fire escapes. The kind of dockland buildings that probably used to be inhabited by export offices and port authorities.
In Pioneer Square I saw, one after the other, a crow, a gull, and a pigeon. In the space of an hour there was grey mushroom soup and blue tile roofs and a woman with long white hair.
