Oh, no Mike! I don’t use e-mail.
I don’t trust it.
But I’m going to share something with you now, over the Blog. And this is just between you and me, ok? (So the rest of you lot, please bugger off.)
Mike, I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but you’re pretty much my BFOI. My Best Friend On the Internet.
But don’t tell the others that, ok? Because I like them, too, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Anyway, since you are my BFOI, there’s something else I need to tell you about that bronze medallion at the Junction.
Well, you know how it’s right out in the middle of the sidewalk right? — So lots of people walk over it all the time, whether they’re allowed to or not. But at the same time, it’s private property, right? It belongs to someone.
But who does it belong to, exactly?
There’s no Savings Bank of Puget Sound anymore. There’s not even a Puget Sound Savings Bank.
And yet there lies the medallion, right there on the sidewalk, saying that we’re not supposed to be there, because that space is theirs. And yet, at the same time, that “space” is part of something that actually disappeared a long time ago, like a black hole that’s left over after a star is done farting out all its gas.
So it’s a paradox really: an oddity of both time and space. Just like you and me.
Let me tell you what’s really going on there, Mike. See, I’ve discovered that this thing marks the entrance (or exit) to some kind of weird West Seattle Wormhole — or “WSWH” as I call it — and if you step over it at exactly the wrong moment (or the right moment, depending), you will take a Journey to the other end of the Universe — or maybe even to a different Universe all together.
And you might just come back. But then again, you might not.
Or you might come back changed somehow. And it might be a change for the better. But then again, it might not. See?
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How do I know all this?
Well, it’s funny you should ask, because last week, as part of my official SWIWS research, I chanced to step on this thing, and the next thing I knew, I was spinning head-over-heels in space and time, passing over the old Evinrude Plant, swinging wide around Luna Park, and ending up flat on my ass in Richard Hugo’s old front yard.
In other words, I took a quick trip from the RWS to the RWC, which is not at all what I wanted to do. (If I’d wanted to do that, I would’ve just taken the #22, right?)
So I’m warning you, buddy. Watch where you’re stepping around that intersection; treat it like you would an off-leash dog park. Cuz’ if you get sucked into the vortex, and you end up somewhere else, sure, it might turn out like you want . . .
But then again, it might not.
And if you went somewhere and didn’t come back, and it was all because I’d never warned you about the WSWH, I’d never forgive myself.