Walking

Celine’s Ellipses by Akira Ohiso

A physician’s assistant from Tulsa put the cuff over my thick denim Levi’s shirt…the lower number is a bit high…the doctor did it 🔟 minutes later, and it’s “much better.”…lab draw to measure statin’s progress…pilgrim’s regress…2 vials of 🩸…DOB label…verbal confirmation…check the app for results…Celine’s ellipses because I am lazy…or I want to ride the crest of freedom…mail order scripts…hospital elevators slow today…the Skybridge…the Chapel…a Chinese man patches a wall between two elevators…I look for EXITS…Reserved For Kaufmann parking…not Andy…MD BMW…Market is vacancy…4 Lease…square footage…Foursquare…Jackpots on LED…pant entrails collect maple oak puddle water…unSWEDISH 💉…SineWAR & piece of shit under 🏧 … Planet Shitness… ALGREEN’S…WeWorked…moving 🎯…S is a safe passage in the Red Sea…vestigial doors post-pandemic ➡️…girl in orange snaps #selfie next to 🎃🎃…plastic flowers in real dirt…Skittle hues…🐓Big Mac…limited ⏳…the Yankees win, thaaa Yankees win….

Bigfoot TikTok by Akira Ohiso

The rain darkens dirt and asphalt. The petrichor triggers the eternal rain of all my memories into a singular manifestation. It is a subtle and fleeting comfort I don't get with any other experience.

The storm's pattering rush comes and goes quickly, leaving curb rivers and trickling water of different timbres from different surfaces. The air is fresh, the birds cacophonous.

The call of blue herons near the Locks sounds prehistoric—cinematic velociraptors. The screeching sound is disconcerting, but it reminds me of a Bigfoot TikTok in which a man hears a similar animal sound and suggests it's the hairy myth. I know it's not Bigfoot because there is a busy 7-11 near the herons. Bigfoots hate 24-hour security cameras.

I work at the end of the 44 Metro Line, where bus drivers eat 10-minute lunches and then use the 7-11 restroom before releasing the pneumatic brakes to start another run - it's behind-the-scenes, a thumbed Dean Koontz paperback, a TV test pattern, taped breasts, the glitch in the matrix.

Zombie Pharmacy by Akira Ohiso

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.

Behind Ballard Market, a couch cushion is next to a halved watermelon. A security guard walks around the store, locked and loaded, but talks to someone familiar on his cell phone with domesticated nonchalance.

38,703.27USD

-1,033.99(2.60%)🔽

Stop And Smell The Artichokes by Akira Ohiso

A man sleeps on a mattress on the median of 14th Ave NW between parked cars. Later that day, he is seen bottomless, unaware that he is in his birthday suit. “Happy Birthday.”

The little library constantly gets refilled with books. These little wooden boxes are places for people to downsize their belongings, sometimes with books that should have been recycled.

I always peruse, but it's not often that the stars align. A few weeks ago, Swimming to Antarctica by Lynne Cox intrigued me. The book is stacked on top of a Jenga-like pile on my nightstand.

The impulse to read the book fulfilled a mood and an aspirational journey at the time I am not committed to just yet. Perhaps the impulse knows more than I do about my future self. There will come a time when I will pick up that book to read because it's simply time.

I have a new interest in watching bees pollinate. The neighborhood has plenty of wildflowers, so I stop. The longer I stay, the more bees I notice moving from flower to flower.

Growing up, I was allergic to bee stings, and my parents had EpiPens when medical access was limited, like vacations to cabins and country inns. We often vacationed in New England - Cape Cod, Vermont, and Maine. Whenever I saw a Yellowjacket, I would panic like Jerry Lewis.

Several crows caw as I walk by, then fly from wire to roof to tree branch along my path. They lose interest and fly away after seeing that I am not a threat. I enjoy this daily interaction as long as they don't dive-bomb me, which they occasionally do during mating season when I get too close to a nest.

An artist is installing a new exhibit in the Das Shaufenster gallery window. There is no inside gallery, just the window, which is always on view -24/7. It is a unique neighborhood feature, but I wonder if residents appreciate the art.

A young man with AirPods on seem to ignore everything and everyone around him. It's a nuisance for him to remove his AirPods when someone talks to him. “What was that?” he say, pulling one AirPod out.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, good morning,” slightly perturbed that his podcast was interrupted.

Stop and smell the artichokes.