Seattle

A squat roadhouse forty five minutes inland. A little cake of a thing, layers of glossy red and white, just over the mountain, as they say, into the Cascadian Range.

ROOT, the local sports station, seems to exclusively play clips of Ken Griffey Jr. at various phases of his career. Right now it’s the 1998 Home Run Derby. Griffey gleams with a 90s Fresh Prince single-earring sort of handsome that enthralled every white person on the planet for a decade or so. At the last minute, he’s victorious—eight homers over four tied with seven including Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro. Palmeiro’s mustache is platonically perfect, as is Chipper Jones’ jawline, although Chipper only nets a single homer. I remember watching this Home Run Derby as a child of twelve.

Cream ale on the handwritten chalk menu. Rainier the dominant beer of the area, the logo drawn with impressive accuracy on the board, but I opt for the cream. It’s as smooth and gloppy as the icing paint on the bar’s exterior. A place of c…