i want to live in the phinney ridge neighborhood of seattle, which nests peacefully over greenlake. the neighborhood croons with the sound of cars inching up bumpy hills & feet peddling through little yards. i want the everyday fog, and the necessary layers, the occasional side-yard sunsoak. i will die, peacefully, tending to my garden. and by that, i mean actually sipping a latte on my stoop because i am the worst at gardening, and if we ever have a garden it will be indebted to someone else's green, tender hands.