Hangout Review
Me and Raul
Seattle, WA
January 27, 2005
There's a lot to a person that we guess at when we first meet them: What's the deal with that haircut? Why's he staring at me like that? What the fuck is that accent, made up? Where'd he get those jeans with the Ghandi silkscreen? Where'd he lose the finger? Why's he wearing a pashmina?
As for Raul, I've known him for a while, so I can give some definitive answers: It was free. He's fucking crazy. Yes. In Wyoming-of all places. A saw. It was free.
Raul came to visit recently. We hadn't seen each other since the summer we spent out on the Puget on an internship with the University of Washington. Raul had counted the fish, while I logged them. He was a marine biology student, and my uncle was a dean. It got real boring most days, so Raul made up raps about marrying fish or taking young girls' innocence. But, in these raps, the girls' innocence wasn't lost to sexual encounters or booze and drugs. It was lost to the world's general dispassion. These young women met their downfalls, as they learned of society's lack of love. "Molesting hand" and "salary man" rhymed frequently.
When he came back to town for a visit, we took the bus downtown and walked over to Firewater Park. We stared out at the Puget and remembered the heady days of Springer, "the orphaned orca". She'd wandered for weeks in that harbor.
