“I’ve been trying to expand my horizons, I’ve started to listen to techno”

Everything is going to be alright.

To West Seattle, the striking warm scent of wet, wild loam, near the sea, mixed with his sweet papaya shampoo and the cigarettes from the club, ears full of unconscious music, of the hum of the machine. I look away from us, to downtown receding on our right, the vast industrial plane of cometary orange lights sparkling, the port a polished commerce tumble of stacked container boxes and carnelian chrysoberyl. It’s so beautiful I decide I never want to forget what it feels like to be there, in that moment, as I twist back to see, arms close, the bike heavy on the road, as if we and the city were forged of sunset spun of our caramel hair.

American Law has a Three-Pony-Rule

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