Ah, what a wonderful day it is to be walking down this street on this day under the sun! And what a gorgeous day it is, indeed, to be walking under slick blue skies and meek white clouds moseying their way to another time, as I bide my own. The night was foggy, typical Seattle Mist but what you see when it’s gone… Friends! It is something to behold!

I smile, proudly look up, and make step after step in light, giddy waves…and then a dense, whitish glob of bird shit falls right in front of me. I look up, the pigeon looks back with a grin. “I’ll get you next time,” I yell, thrusting my fist in the air.

A crow caws, a seagull yells. I continue to walk, smiling.

Later, as I make my way through the maze of Seattle Center and safely (after nearly being hit by a car) walk down Fourth Avenue.

I hear faint cries, distantly, and let them blow by. Then I hear a scream, a loud, aggressive caw, quickly followed by another and then another and I look up, squinching my eyes, and see a crow, angrier than a decapitated hen, cawing at me, telling me to get lost, I don’t belong there and I realized that it thought I was trying to get at its babies, the ones faintly crying up in the tree. Ain’t it great in the park?

And I thought, “That bird is going to attack me.” And then I thought, “No it won’t. It just wants me to leave. Besides, they don’t attack. Unless you consider that one movie.” But that doesn’t really count, does it?

“We’ll all be damned!” he kept yelling. A bloaty blonde man with a snarltooth. “We’ll all be damned!” He’s definitely not one of my friends here in Seattle!

And then there was this N’Orlins black dude asking my lady, “How you doing…baby,” looking for a little jive until Satan with his redshirt showed up.

Or how’s about the dude on the No. 1, riding up to Kinnear. Fucker gets on, stands across from me near the front and asks “Do you have a first name?” I said “Charles” and he said do you have a middle name and I said, “Yes,” and then he asked if I had a last name and I also said yes and then he stuck out his hand to shake and I shook it as he said, “Then my name is Carl,” and sat down as I said, “How do you do, Carl?” and he said something like, “Fine, thanks.” And then said something later about the weather. And that was all.

Or how about the guy who sleeps in his van with his dog across from Kinnear. And that fucking dog waking me up at 3 a.m. because the bums were too loud in the park.

Or the lovely lady who let her dog shit in the park began unrolling the wad of plastic bags from her hand as if to pick up the freshly laid shit, and then looked around and walked off. I was the one who yelled, “Hey! I saw that!” and wanted to yell to her, “Hey! Pick up your shit!” but didn’t have, let’s say, the ball(s) to do it. Next time, I vow dear reader, I will run down and MAKE her clean up her shit or else beware of a lady with shit upon her back. Are we that far from home?

I’m lovely dovely today, thank you.