On the mezzanine level of Westlake Station this morning, I saved a couple of tourists from taking the wrong elevator. I pointed them to the down elevator. As I headed down the stairs, I saw them both tap their ORCA cards. So, maybe they were locals, heading out of town, and not tourists.
As I was waiting to cross 3rd Avenue, I was greeted by a group of Native American men. We all agreed it was a beautiful morning. One of them asked me what time it was, and I told him. He said, “Thanks, brother!” The light turned green, and we all went on our way.
I seem to get greeted by groups of Native American men a lot. Maybe it happens to everyone. Maybe I look vaguely Native American. Maybe it’s my ponytail. Maybe it’s a coincidence. I don’t know.