My Generous Gift to the Future
I’m lucky to live within three blocks of the Tangletown strip in north Seattle’s Wallingford neighborhood. It’s home to an Elysian brewpub, Kisaku sushi, a Might-O donut store, the Luau polynesian Trader Vic’s style restaurant and bar, and Zoka’sCoffeehouse, a comfy local gathering spot.
Although they have great pastries, coffee and free wifi at Zoka’s, I don’t go in there much to sit and surf. It’s always fairly crowded with kids of courting age, and I fear that if I sat my superannuated butt in one of the seats, someone of breeding age would not get the seat, not get to meet the attractive young woman seated next to me, and consequently would not tell her lies about his nearly-finished novel, not herd her across the street to the Luau, not get drunk on rum-and-grenadine concoctions garnished with umbrellas and little plastic mermaids, not wander the neighborhood in vain search of their cars, not have desperate and unprotected sex under one of my neighbors’ hydrangea bushes and not, nine months later, give birth to the marvelous child who would grow up to run for president in 2040 and finally rid us of decades of ruinous Republican rule.
No, I’ll just get that double macchiato to go, thanks.
