I recently spent five days roaming the streets of Seattle.  Seattle.  A city with a white sky and chicks wearing knee high converse boots.  I visited Pike Place Market and took pictures of the space needle.  I watched the water, watched the people, and had a hard time falling asleep on the leather couch owned by a friend of mine.  "I got it from an old roommate" she confessed, though that's irrelevant.

I have a hard time sleeping in new cities, at new places with leather couches and cats named "Sleater-Kitty" that play fetch with a fuzz ball.  I could talk about that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movie and compare my sleepless nights to theirs, make a clever anecdote or analogy and smile at the results.  But that wouldn't really be accurate because being sleepless in Seattle was simply because of the cold leather couch in a new city, and not because my wife died of cancer and then I was on a radio show.  I can't sleep in new cities the same as I don't feel clean taking a shower in showers that aren't mine.

Seattle itself is a sleepy town filled with kids with their eyes half way open and rain that sounds like a lullaby every morning when you wake up.  What's necessary to fall into a comforting, Seattle sleep was a soothing sound, not the sounds of a three piece garage rock outfit from the Pacific Northwest as one may assume.  Songs that play in my head when I walked along a cloudy, grey coast are the same ones that helped me close my eyes and drift off nicely into a simple Seattle slumber.