The thing about Seattle and the surrounding suburbs is traffic; miles and miles of freeways doing figure eights and stacked loops going from freeway to highway, highway to road, road to gravel driveway, to home. Remember the 80s lyric," Nobody walks in LA.?" As soon as you are a few miles outside of downtown the same applies here except for those who walk with purpose with their dogs and/or babies and lattes in tow. So, your average person spends at least an hour a day in their car watching the red brake lights glimmer amidst the pewter sky and miles of asphalt. That isolation of sitting in a small cube amongst thousands of other commuters mixed with the Northwest tendency to not look strangers in the eye makes for an isolated existence. This lack of social interaction is often called the Seattle cold shoulder and it may be a result of the early European settlers who came here, to the farthest edge of the continental US to start anew and to be left alone; and maybe it’s the darkness and rain that descends from October to May. I have a long commute and enjoy the freedom of that bubble. I can sing along to the radio as loud as I want, and driving is a way to clear my head before getting to school. I listen to the different sounds the tires make on pavement. In wealthier areas special quiet asphalt is installed and the car runs almost silently. About two miles from home is a spot where, on good days, I can see the Cascades to the east. Stopping at a light, I can look down to see the mountains agate blue and laced with the first snow of the year hanging like delicate pendants in the sky.