International Boulevard in SeaTac is a nightmare, but it is an accurate reflection of what one could call "default America." It's a cultural baseline. A suburban commercial strip -- two to three lanes flowing in either direction north and south with a 40-m.p.h. speed limit -- dotted with fast food outlets, filling stations, airport hotels and 7-Eleven convenience stores. It's hell on earth American style.
At lunch (it was the first day of business in the new building) I walked from the local to the airport light rail stop to see how long it is going to take me each day (I drove the local's Astro Van from the old building today instead of taking the train). Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of sucking in carbon monoxide and smelling fry grease; the car and trucks and hotel shuttle buses that zoomed by blocked out any hope of a decent thought. Such an environment is so hostile to the pedestrian, so bleak for anything human, that I find myself praying for the downward slope of peak oil.
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