A shaggy-haired guy with a toothbrush in one hand and an empty plastic gallon-sized milk bottle in the other approaches me as I walk down Stark Street and asks if I know where he can find some water. I tell him I have no idea, and he gives me a smile and thanks me and keeps walking. At Pioneer Square a man with a blue face leans against a bike rail and smokes a bowl of weed. I ask to take his picture and he smiles his yes, and after I take the shot, he blows smoke in my face. Head spinning, I cross the street and stop near the Starbucks to watch a game of chess. People gather in groups, talking and greeting passers-by, so different from how people act where I live that I just stand staring in awe until they start staring back. On my way back to my hotel I pass a musician playing buckets with a friend.