I just came so hard I need a snack. Ignoring the blood-laden protests of my still pulsating crotch, I swing my legs out of bed and go straight for the fridge. Grapes, lemon yogurt and a chocolate brownie. Veritable buffet by my standards. Oomphing into the computer chair, I debate my media choices. An hour before my bus I could either play a game, watch a show or listen to the radio. Getting ready for work, I’ve never felt more like myself than now.

There’s a boy at my local bar that’s shown distinct interest in my meta-physical form. Operating in my emotional blind spot, it’s just as likely he’s an emotional parasite as genuine. Certain people express themselves more candidly with me due to the disarming quality of my frankness. It’s not always to my advantage. Learning to deflect people’s need to be true to themselves, I’m quick to remind everyone that I’m merely an agent of chaos. Change follows me and I must keep moving to survive. Perpetually cresting the wave of progress, it always feels too little too late.

Another place I love in Seattle is closed. Knowing the situation before I got here, the decay still tastes like ashes. They are installing bike lanes in Belltown and I wonder whether the 10-year old transplants even recognize these agonal moments. Knowing there is something to preserve is only the first step. Taking advantage of the crux between too much and not enough is how you preserve worthwhile parts of a city’s soul. Rent control does nothing if all the places worth living near are gone. The condo towers erecting all around are forming a skeleton of next century’s DIYer projects. And that’s the positive outcome.