"Of course the reader should be mindful that I'm a poet and we tend to err on the side that life is more than it appears rather than less."
                       -Jim Harrison

There is the thought that it just doesn't get any better than this . . . a simple bowl of Chinese noodles with seafood and a local Seattle beer named Rainier ("made with Yakima Valley hops"), most likely Washington's version of Texas "Lone Star" (but slightly better) . . . this tiny Chinese diner of the Seattle working class and a few tourists, tucked into the recesses of Pike Place Market with a million dollar view.  If there's ever a large earthquake, this place will surely be the first to tumble down the hill into the cold waters of Peugeot Sound far below. 

I am reminded of the strange yet wonderful dinner I had last night with my friend Joe from Salt Lake City.  Our waitress was from "Roma", as she said with a thick accent.  She was very petite and I could tell she used to be beautiful, not long ago; her age beginning to show around her eyes and in her weary smile.  I could tell that she'd seen a lot in her life and traveled great distances.  She had been a ballet dancer.  Her co-worker embarrassed her a little by showing me a YouTube video of her dancing on a beautiful stage with her ex-husband.  I watched the video with her and I could see her eyes light up , and then go far away, perhaps homesick or missing him I'm not sure.  Twirling and pirouetting under colorful light filled banners, she was a goddess for sure.   

Joe and I ordered Pizzas from a short but suspiciously tough looking waiter named Josepi.  He had a  chiseled jaw and wild eyes.  He was the kind of guy whom always looks on the verge of a strike, like a tiger or maybe a Mohave rattlesnake.  Between bits of operatic bellowing, he was playful with us, as strangers, perhaps because he could tell we weren't mere tourists.  He was also playful with the dancer,  and you could tell he'd seen a lot in his life as well.  He was from south Philly and he rambled incessantly about criminal gangs, the mafia and mixed martial arts. 

Joe and I closed the place down.  I must admit the simple home-style pizza (I had them add anchovies because I was feeling adventurous)  was very good.  There is a fine line between run of the mill pizza like you find most anywhere and pizza like this, which looks run of the mill.  But it holds secrets, more than likely because the sauce was interesting, "a family secret" going back generations, as Josepi said. 

I have enjoyed, almost too much, this simple bowl of broth with rice noodles and a mix of fresh seafood.  But I'm getting tired of this PhD biologist sitting in the opposite booth complaining about his existential academic problems because he's being paid big bucks by Microsoft as a resident scholar and researcher, God knows why.  After going on and on how he has significantly improved the companies competitive edge with his cutting edge research and that he has published in the leading journals in his field, he said he's in love with agriculture and not personal computing.  So he was thinking about quitting.  But I'll bet he makes ten times what a biology professor makes at an average state university.  I can tell this from his clothing . . . top of the line mountaineering attire, as if his just came off Annapurna.   

Anyway, as I sit here overlooking the Pacific far below, I can't help but be mournful of those of whom have passed through my life for brief moments in time, like beautiful and mysterious ghosts, my light and magic.  And now they are gone . . . only their words and a few visual images remain.