In these overtime days, there’s no time for experimentation and exploration in my morning commute. I stick to the routine, and get there. I pay attention to the 47 schedule.
I ride the 47 down the hill, and go farther down, underground, into Westlake Station. (The words “a dive bar in a west-end town” pop into my head.) I don’t wait for a Link train. I climb into the first bus that comes along. One usually arrives just as I reach the far end of the platform. Sometimes, it’s an inbound bus full of people. Sometimes it’s an outbound bus, not yet full.
This morning, it’s a 150, just starting its run southward. From my seat near the back door, I have a clear view through the bus, through the windshield, of the entire tunnel ahead. It’s awesome.
I give a friendly nod to the security guard in Pioneer Square Station, and he gives me a friendly nod in return. He didn’t used to do that. Maybe he’s decided I’m not a threat.
I’ve been thinking about quantum physics these days, and the thought returned to me this morning. There’s a concept that says you can never know what the world is like when you’re not looking at it, because the act of looking changes the world. It occurred to me recently that that’s true of the larger world as well. We tend to see what we expect to see.
I make my way up to the surface. I’m looking up at the walruses when a text message from Phillip arrives. He’s asking for a weather report. I tell him it’s nice and sunny.
Sheena’s setting up shop in that cafe as I pass by, just like every morning. I doubt that her name’s actually Sheena. I know nothing about her. We’ve never spoken. I just think she’s trying hard to be a pseudo-punk rocker.
I continue up the hill until I’m underground again. Then, with a series of escalators and an elevator, I’m at my desk, high above the ground. I imagine that I’m close to the elevation I was when I boarded the 47.