Today I’d like to draw your attention to the number 22. And with that attention you’ll start to notice 22s all around you. They’ve been there all along but you haven’t really seen them, until now. Yesterday was April 22. But that was so six hours ago. That two-two is behind you.
Fire Station 22 is on Roanoke. Which is right on my line when I ride my bike to work because the trains are jacked. And a couple weeks ago I spotted Engine 22, which resides at Station 22. It was parked at Urban Horticulture on a non-emergency sightseeing mission.
Two-Two to you two too.
I live way down by Fire Station 33. And the less-train more-bike to work for the past 10 days has been a real Phantom Nostalgia Tour of Seattle for me. Remembering yesteryear, the good old daze. When Capitol Hill was home.
Slowly rolling past the places I used to live. Two of them are long gone, two of them are still there but I’m sure the rent is three or four times what I paid.
My commute seemingly takes forever on a bike. It’s actually just a bit longer but I’ve grown soft over the years on my daily slack jaw zombie train rides with a book or the New Yorker or Wordle and Spelling Bee.
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