Supersonic
In the early 90s, I fell in love with the idea of going to the Emerald City back when Gary Payton threw lobs to Shawn Kemp for some of the most incredible alley-oops I had ever seen in my life. My infatuation with the green and gold only grew as I started to see pictures of the Space Needle and the Puget Sound. Back when Ken Griffey displayed the most beautiful swing possibly of all time, Nirvana and Pearl Jam already cranked through my headphones, and I had developed a good taste for seafood.
It took me 20 years, but I finally arrived on Friday, and it felt so good.
I walked down through downtown Seattle, sniffing in the plethora of Starbucks and Pan-Asian foods deep into my lungs. I brushed past the crowds near Safeco Field and Pike Place Market. I wiped my mouth after having a clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl, leaving just enough room for grilled seafood for the main course. I laughed at vendors selling Yankees Suck! tees while cheering on the Mariners versus the Red Sox in Viva Las