Said the panhandler: "Five hundred of y'all and not one can spare a dollar?" Funny how people don't respond well to such talk.

Anyway, that scene came on our way from Safeco Field to the Wells Fargo branch parking lot, where we had stashed our car in exchange for a sawbuck. The original plan had been to take the train from Portland to Seattle, watch the Giants beat the Mariners, and take the train back home. Amtrak did not cooperate; the morning train was delayed, and rather than wait for it and end up getting to the game halfway through, Mrs The Fyd decided she would rather drive. She is a brave and good driver.

The game experience was enjoyable; it's a good ballyard and the seats were close to the action. Unfortunately the Giants played ineptly and Barry Bonds struck out thrice. My annoyance with Seattle fans wasn't helped by the boorishness of the anti-Bonds element; the jeering and naked antipathy was enervating. Would they hate him as much if he were white?

Despite that we had fun and could only be amused at the sight of a healthy young man berating a departing crowd for not giving him money. Reminds me of a young woman outside of the downtown Rite-Aid, asking me for change because she was too proud to prostitute herself. Well and good, I thought, but not too proud to beg. I know, I'm a callous asshole, but surely framing the choice as only between prostitution and begging is too facile, not to mention overdramatically stark?