In a penthouse of a quiet Tacoma street downtown, the mayor looks out west, at the cranes and docks of the port. She looks past, to the forested hills, where the meth vans don't go, where the civilization starts.
"Disgusting", she spits under her breath. The stink of alcohol in the room doesn't reach her, instead her nostrils have developed to soak it up like sponges from the air, and she inhales deeply. The only rivals to the rest of the world in her list of antipathies are the denizens of the very town in which she became an elected official.
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