Hey Chief, thanks for picking us up.
I adjusted the rear-view mirror so I could see Steph’s face. It was full of life.
PERFECT STRANGERS BY ANDREW SPINK 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 53
Tuesday, 5.45pm, Downtown Seattle
I pulled up to the glossy white apartment building and waited for “Steph” + “a friend” to find their way to the car. The building was one of those new-construction monstrosities that had hundreds of units, rooftop party areas (I assume), and an overly hipster coffee shop on the first floor named “Birch” or “Straw” or some other natural material. Several possible Stephs walked by, but none with a “+1”, unless a yorkie-doodle was getting its own seat.
After about 90 seconds, Steph and “+1” (Chad) emerged from the courtyard gate and headed for my back seat, checking their app on the way. Steph was about 5’11”, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, half of which was pulled back into a pony tail. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, black with a flower design printed on it, and a short-sleeved, beige button-up. Sh…