This is all your fault

The nice thing about hiding in Seattle is, nobody looks twice at yet another young man with long hair and a 5-o-clock shadow, and if he looks kind of like the terrorist in the shaky camera footage of the TV, well, so do at least three other guys in the Starbucks. The constant looming threat of rain means everyone has a hoodie, or a hat, or an umbrella, and nobody really cares if you wear it all the time, or forget to put the hood down.

The laptop with the big screen, the extra-big, extra-black coffee, all just more layers that let the locals easily ignore him, as he stares into the middle-distance, and tries to remember.