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Riding the bus in Seattle is like clubbing it in West Hollywood in the 90’s. Everyone dresses to impress, vies for an uncomfortable level of attention and predictably gets really, and I mean really huffy if they don’t get the attention they feel their distressed selvage denim merits.

Every day is a little bit of the same. Pursed lips, tortured gazes, crossing and uncrossing of legs, sometimes people come quite near to actually waving their inexplicably inappropriate for an urban setting work-boots in one’s face. Digital devices come out later, and it isn't the device that is being conspicuously removed from one's bag and placed back inside for no apparent reason, but the case which sheaths it. Could it be Want? Brenthaven? Who gives a fuck? I could be wrong. Maybe people are just really nervous every single morning and I just notice to much.

Taking the same bus every morning one would think one would happen upon a few regulars, but that scarcely seems to be the case. It always seems to be a new bunch. I suppose some are running late trying to pair the right silhouette with the on fleek coloring. Who knows. I do my best not to notice and since I unfailingly have a book with me (an actual book as Kindles are for the intellectually ashamed) and I bury my head in it occasionally raising it just enough to block the view of a fellow riders all too appreciated Timberlands.

In any case I was certainly killing it yesterday, and I don't have to say that myself because some gentleman on 3rd and Seneca did it for me. He liked my jacket, scarf, shoes, and finally he just decided that I just looked damn good. I told him thank you, and that is something everyone likes to hear. A small smile did creep across my face since I knew he wasn't getting the full impression as the YvesSaintLaurent underwear I was rocking rarely comes out of the drawer, and by rarely I mean when and only when I have nothing else clean.

Props to me.