My goal here, as the author of these words before you, is to convey the events of a day in Seattle, focusing in particular on the actions, observations, recollections, opportunities, talents and defects of our protagonist who is, as should come as no surprise to you, dear reader, a denizen of that fair city. But let me waste no more of your time in prologue; instead, I shall proceed with no further delay to the gist—nay, the very meat—of this brief narrative.

As the willow to its sod, or the donkey to its trough, so the aforementioned protagonist is to his tome, inspiring, without a doubt, the notes formed in his spare, compact, and barely legible hand. The keen observer will not miss the textual cycle at play here; words forged by minds long dead give rise to words anew, as the redd bursts forth with alevins, recapitulating the cycle of life clothed in semiotic finery. Indeed, not ten feet away the celebration of language continues in a more playful mien, as two other patrons of this same eating establishment conjoin both linguistic and culinary repasts by taking their meals over a game of Scrabble. No easy feat is this, if one is to judge by the puzzled expression furrowing one player's brow.

If I may be permitted, in the name of brevity, to curtail my discourse somewhat (acknowledging, of course, that I have already left out an appalling number of details, and left far too much of what I have already written unadorned by even the simplest of commentary), I will shift the focus of this story over to the other side of the restaurant, where a minor drama is unfolding. Indeed, I must insist on an abrupt termination of my elaboration of the events surrounding the lone protagonist and his nearby diners, as circumstances mandate it.

Or perhaps not. It was a simple, minor, and injury-free accident; a momentary lapse of a hurried and inexperienced waiter's attention occasioned an accident. It was an accident innocuous yet obvious, like the amanuensis' spelling error or the crack in the figurine crafted by the tinsmith's apprentice; a once-full glass of water sat in fragments on the floor, drenched in a puddle of the water that once so completely occupied it. History and culture alike are filled with portentous associations with the breaking of glass, from the christening of a ship to the Jewish tradition of stepping on a wine glass at a wedding to that bit of unpleasantness in Prague in 1618, so even this relatively minor incident inspired some primal, if suppressed, reaction in all those within earshot. At the risk of being accused of laconism, I shall conclude my recollection of this incident by observing simply that two waiters rushed to their comrade's aid, and a patron politely offered a napkin to speed the accident's resolution.

At this point it is probably worth noting that little worthy of report happened in the succeeding two hours, so I will not bore the reader with any sort of elaboration on that particular span of time, except to note that it passed, as suggested (if not stated outright) above, without incident.

It is a common habit of residents and out-of-towners alike to ascribe to the Seattle area a climate of near constant rain; while this somewhat overstates the case in general, for this specific date and time it suits us just fine, as it was, in fact, raining, and it had been quite steadily for most of the day. Nevertheless our protagonist found himself standing outside in the drizzle, accompanying a group of his nearest and dearest, discussing—for reasons utterly unknown to me, and quite possibly to no one not privy to the discussion itself—a statue of some local renown. Where this conversation led I can similarly only guess; whether its substance formed the wheat of worthy discourse, or the chaff of idle banter, is something on which I can only speculate. Since I am not one to engage in gossip, it is perhaps fit that I bring this tale to its conclusion with the rapidity it so richly deserves.

To do so, of course, before mentioning the presence of a bicyclist passing by the scene, would be neglectful; he rode by with great haste (one can only surmise he was in a tremendous hurry, or so accustomed to his milieu that he had grown numb to the increased risk to life and limb the inclement weather engendered) and tremendous unpredictability of movement (perhaps brought about by the increased latitude of motion afforded one who is, by comparison to the automobiles with whom he shared the road, quite thin, and thus quite agile). It is these two traits that warrant this lengthened narrative, which I have struggled to keep as brief as the urgency of the facts related herewith permit.

Time does fly when you're having fun, as the adage goes; I can only hope that the impressions imparted here will stay fixed in your memory long enough to afford you continued edification, as the time spent imparting them appears to have passed so quickly I am left lamenting that I omitted so many important details. If I should find an omission so grievous that separate publication is warranted—and I have little doubt I will—you will find them under the heading of "new developments."