It’s 8.15 am, somewhere on Pine and Western Ave. The sky is pale and the air is chill. I can feel the mist running through my nose and slowly freezing my vein. I keep my hand underneath my coat to take away the pain in my fingertips.
I want to walk quickly so I can get out from this cold, but my legs are stiff. People move slowly. Light from the stores is reflected by the puddles on the road. The song by the seagulls is broken down by the sound from the uploading truck once in a while. To get a good impression of what a market should be like, check out this video about Seattle’s Pike Place Market:
I see a few people jogging on the street like they don’t care how cold it is. From Western Ave, I cross the street to Elliott Ave. I can see and smell the ocean. I see the Seahawk stadium standing still beneath the morning fog. The grass is wet, and the street is damp. I see a man sleeping on the bench at the sidewalk, curling his body till no one can see his face. He has dark and long hair, a greenish dark coat, and old dirty brown shoes.
At 1.20 pm, I go back to the street. Somewhere on Western Ave and Lenora, shadows of the buildings are sliced by the sunbeams. It is much warmer now than this morning when it seemed Seattle was still High on Ice. I wish I were here since the sun had started shining. The sunlight brings colors to the grass, to my hair, and to the air. I see the man who slept on the bench this morning. He is sitting and crafting a piece of wood and puts one of them that is already done by his side. He won’t get bothered by the Pioneers for Seattle Parks. He’s bothering no one.
He sits there and puts his face so close to his work, making sure he doesn’t make any flaw in moving his knife. He doesn’t care when people are staring at him and his work. The bark of the dogs behind him can’t even break his focus. The whole street is singing. Kids are cheering along with the sound of cars’ engines and people’s footsteps. See also this post: Seattle Lutefisk at the Crosswalk.
The smile from the sun reflects through everyone’s faces on the street. People go in and out of the stores, eating their food, drinking their coffee, and holding their children’s hands. There are two guys with their two performer cats, an artist with his “you name the price” abstract paintings, a man playing accordion accompanied by his big fat dog complete the puzzles of the market. The beat from a trio singing is getting louder and louder.
The colorful voices of their acapella that flow with clapping hands and stomping feet in front of a big picture of a two-tailed mermaid on the glass enrich the view of this day. People watch them singing as they enjoy every bite of their piroshki, every slurp of their coffee, and every lick of their ice cream. I’m thinking about checking out some great Asian Art in SAM (Seattle Art Museum) later today if it doesn’t get too late…
Right in front of an old empty plants store, a lady offers her newspaper to everyone that passes her: “Real Change Newspaper, only a dollar,” she says as she holding the newspaper at one hand and a cigarette on her other hand. I turn my back from the sun and climb the narrow sidewalk, passing through everyone’s picture-perfect day.