When I moved to Seattle I set to work right away on ensuring that I met one of my most important priorities: finding all the good tea shops. And Seattle is rich in options for public consumption of tea. But after a few months I noticed a certain trend amongst my fellow patrons. It’s something that has taken on the weight of quintessential-Seattle for me. So much so that I chose to immortalize it in fiction.
The resulting story such a perfect encapsulation of my deep and nuanced feelings about the culture of my current stomping grounds that I’m going to overthrow my normal custom for public readings. Next week at Two Hour Transport (happening at Cafe Racer, a noble Seattle institution if ever there was one) I shall treat the audience to a dramatic reading of “For the Last Time, It’s not a Ray Gun.” Normally I’d let the audience choose what to hear, but in this case I didn’t want to give them the chance to make a bad choice. There’s a joke about Portland in it. You should come.
Event details, including the bio for my fellow invited reader, here.
Anaea Lay 