Around 5 pm or so, as I put together YET ANOTHER piece of office furniture, I said to my pal Sharon... "after this, let's go drink beer." After two more hours of back breaking moving madness (no, really, my back got older faster than I did, AND one of the movers quit(not our fault) in the midst of the job) I was really ready for one. We ended up at a fancy hipster former gas station "Station Bistro" for a porter and some warm dinner. It was quite awesome, and I feel silly for not going there for so long.
But this is another installment of "Overheard in Ballard". I'll set the scene: Two young dudes in woolen caps are lighting smokes.
"Hey man."
"'sup Couch! How you doin'... Couch."
(long sigh) "Not bad."
"Hey, Couch... what's your real name? I've just always called you couch."
"Justin. Joo-stun.. actually."
"Justin, that's cool. Why DO people call you Couch anyway? You sleep on a lot of 'em or what?"
(another tortured sigh) "I used to work at this skate park, and one day I brought a couch there."
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