Sundays at Victrola.

Living in Seattle means constantly coming up with new traditions.

We came across a coffee house I'd never set foot in, but always peeked at curiously/creepily on the way to Bauhaus. The spirit of trying something new came over us, resulting in what Hannah would call "a wiiise choice". The coffee there demands you sip it slowly. The music calls for foot tapping. The patrons are young and absorbed in their books. We watched the eclectic Capitol Hill residents walk by from behind the huge windows, sometimes crossing our fingers that a few of them would stroll in. Here's what that looked like: a Cillian Murphy look-alike with hazel eyes and a Yeats reader, a little old man with his new paint set and a tiny canvas, a vagabond or two, and about eight pairs of finely-crafted leather shoes.