Sirens aren’t found on foxhunts anymore; they come and sit next to your lawn chair when your back is turned. They drive yellow Mustangs with cough syrup in the glove compartment, and still remember Partridge Family lyrics. They take Camp Fire mints and borscht in crimson Thermos jugs to Alki point and write “Hawaii ‘77″ [...]

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Electrified scenes from the cannery (Front row; balcony) — for Gary Gilmore What were you looking at, when your peers threw away your life. Who were you watching, as the black robes brushed you aside. What did you hear, as the three month calendar wheezed. What were you listening for, as you drowned the last [...]

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