On a wide, smooth lawn in Seattle. I’m in a group of college-age girls looking for a place to drink. In the bright sunshine, I survey the urban college-y bars around the square, all of them ladies-night-out, party-with-the-girls novelty affairs. Through a telescope I see one that’s in a penthouse location, neon-clad, very impressive. They might all be the same corporate interest. Smelling the fresh-cut grass, I notice my orange-and-brown blazer is crumpled on the lawn.