I was done with Seattle the night before. Perhaps a bit of road weariness. Certainly too much walking around in the dark in the southern extremes of the Capitol Hill neighborhood (or perhaps the north end of First Hill), trying to read my guidebook under dim lamplight like an idiot, an advertisement for street crime. We didn't find the pizza place for which we were looking and wandering, but were able to find a a booth in a crowded Pike Street bar where there was pretty respectable thin crust (it's utter apostasy for someone living in Chicago, but I much prefer New York style pizza) to be had. But not even the life-giving slices and a couple of pints could restore the excitement I had felt to be in a new city just the day before. Good then, that I was traveling with someone of more sanguine outlook. At her prompting, we decided to check out both Capitol Hill's Washington Park and the neighborhood of Fremont before we quitted Seattle. Acr...