It was the worst night of my life, in almost every way, but at least my outfit was cool. I was wearing a shearling coat, cut off at mid-thigh, with knee-high boots made of white leather that shined like polished glass. My hair was in a bouffant, which took a long time to get perfect, but it was time well spent, because it helped me channel another side of myself: a more carefree and uninhibited side of my personality which I suppressed when I moved to the suburbs. It had been two years since I left Seattle, and I needed to return, because the city was full of strangers who didn’t care who I was, what I did, or where I lived. It was a place where I could stay out late and get lost in unknown places. I was walking down Pike Street with Jeff, a guy I met in college, while holding a bunch of acorns in my hand, tossing them into the street, and watching them bounce over the asphalt like skipped rocks. This must have been what people did for fun, I thought, before they invented social media.