Public Market

Kristin took my hand as she said, “You and me today.  I promised I would take you to see them throw the fish, and we have to get food for Christmas.”

“I believe this is your first time taking the 550,” Kristin said as the bus pulled up.

I read the destination sign out loud, “550 Bellevue-NE 10th,” and shook my head no, that I have never been on the 550.

“I have your fare,” She said as I started digging through my pocket, “Don’t forget: leaving Seattle, we pay when exiting the bus.”  We found ourselves a seat and she said, “When we get to Bellevue, we will get straight on the 230 and drop this food off.  You look tired.”

It took me a moment to try to put into words how I was feeling as the bus proceeded to the Rainier Ave Freeway Station, the last stop in Seattle proper.  Going through my mind was that I no longer was being abused, and I just struggled to express this in words.  Suddenly, my mind was blown away as the bus proceeded onto the Interstate 90 floating bridge as I was taking in the sights that was all new to me.

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