at trader joe’s in seattle on thursday morning a conversation was forcibly struck up between us and the cashier, and eventually with the older local lady in (if i recall correctly) some sort of athletic tights and probably a fleece northface vest. it came out that we were headed to tacoma after purchasing our smoothie, batard, and mango flavoured tortilla chips. “get ready for the aroma of tacoma,” the cashier joked. forgetting that we were leaving the city, the two seattliens proceded to bombard us with suggestions of things we should do in and around the seattle metro area, most of which we had already done, and some of which (the suggestions made mostly by the wealthy idle looking woman) we had no intention of doing, especially not after someone had recommended them to us. i was glad that this shameless verbal tourbook had been visited upon us as we were to imminently leave the city so it could not spoil my feelings of independent discovery. we took off, not wishing we could stay and do the rest of the things the chamber of commerce shills had suggested, but looking forward, with speculation and curiosity, to the one negative thing they had told us, which was meant more as a deterrent from tacoma, its “aroma.”

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poured in: Tacoma, Washington