The retail space on Market Street, which the former Bartells occupied for years, will become a Planet Fitness. The area around the former drugstore was deactivated as fewer people used the parking garage and connecting walkthrough to shopping. A vacancy signals that dead security cams will monitor the space. Corporate is not watching when the merch is gone.
It seems this pharmacy will not zombify with its giant, unrentable space for small businesses. The Target space across 15th is still vacant but protected from zombification because it's in a lobby office building. CVS across the Market would zombify if it closed. The old FedEx space, which is a few blocks up, has turned.
The roar of fighter jets above the clouds is practice for Seafair, or one of our many enemies attacking us. I walk with Ellie to the FedEx in Ballard Blocks. We take 11th Ave NW and cross at Market Street instead of 14th because we don't want to walk by people shooting up in their legs or wherever they have a usable vein.
Primary Day is Tuesday, and many moderate candidates are running on public safety and homelessness issues. Near the Blocks, posters on poles say, “Violence happened here,” in response to sweeps along 14th. Requiring people to move while providing resources and emergency housing is not “violence.” It’s an imperfect choice, but one that is working to support people towards long-term safety and stability, one slow case at a time.
The King County Coroner’s office has a public daily decedent list. Each day, it is noticeable how many deaths are drug-related. The fentanyl and drug epidemic is part of the problem. Addiction recovery takes many starts and stops and ongoing support, not one-off grants and interventions. You could make the argument that doing nothing is “violence” or more accurately “civic neglect.”
After FedEx, we eat lunch at Trail Bend, a local taproom and eatery. August days seem to keep people inside, and the industrial zone has fewer trees, so walking here is uncomfortable. We walk full-block stretches of cement buildings and razor wire perimeters protecting heavy equipment and stacks of wood pallets.
As we pass Urban Family and Stoup, more people are ordering from food trucks and sitting under pandemic-era outdoor seating.
We notice new parents trying to fit their newborn into a lifestyle that has passed but don't know it yet. Ellie and I talk about our kids growing older and the grief we feel. It took some time and denial, but we are starting to accept the transition of our family dynamic.
When our oldest is at college, our younger kids will also feel the change.
On an empty side street, a drug-addled man folds in half and clambers without a destination. Another man sleeps on a strip of grass roasting in the sun. His belongings scattered around him: crinkled dollar bills, a lighter, loose change, an Arizona iced tea can, an unknown piece of greasy machinery, and 7-11 nachos.
Crows hover and snatch nachos on the periphery of the wheezing, sun-burned human.
