Bridge Motel

Last night pretty much everyone in Seattle crowded into my friend Eve's brother's motel for an art party celebrating the motel's last days of existence. We picked up our friend Will on the way. He shut the door in our faces, which seemed weird; I later found out he thought we were dressed up, so when he saw us he wanted to change his clothes really fast. So I waited outside and took pictures of his yard (where The Stranger's "public intern" did some weeding for him month ago).











OK, these townhouses are right by the Bridge Motel, which is being demolished to make room for a row of similar three-story townhouses.





Here's the motel, where my husband's parents stayed on their first night in Seattle in the '60s.



Later on we saw some friends of ours, and they said they also stayed here years ago. They said the clerk asked them to confirm that they were a married couple. But that's no longer one of the rules here.





I ate some of the art.











I like this carpet, though I'd like it a lot more after a steam cleaning.



Despite having examined the state of the carpet at the motel, I did crawl around this black-light exhibit.



































Speaking of Eastern Europe, I saw a guy who lived on the same train line as me in Czech Republic in the '90s. My stop was Cernosice Mokropsy, and his was farther down, in lovely Zadni Treban.







Behind the bar, these two played Rock Paper Scissors endlessly, and each time the loser had to dance and swig bourbon. They looked like they were getting sick.





I took 16 seconds of shaky video of it.





















It started getting crowded, and we left.