296) One of the more interesting aspects of this project has been discovering that a lot of neighborhoods have names that I’ve never heard of. For example, I’ve always known this area as “23rd and Jackson.” Google calls it “Atlantic.” I really don’t understand why, because you certainly can’t see the Atlantic from anywhere around here. It’s probably best to stick with the Central District.

I should also mention that this is yet another gritty urban statement kind of picture. In the foreground we have the beleaguered mailbox, fighting hard to retain its place in the world. In the background we have the empty shell of the Red Apple Market, a now-shuttered grocery that served this community for decades before succumbing to market forces. In the mid-ground, me.

295) I thought my data was wrong. Seriously, when I started investigating this box I thought I had some completely bogus address data, because the box seemed to be in a swath of nothing in a pinch of land between I-90 and Rainier Ave. But I looked a bit closer, and wow, there it was, standing at the intersection of two streets that I didn’t even know existed. This is easily the most remote and isolated inner-city mailbox I’ve yet to encounter.

294) This morning I visited this fine box positioned outside of the oh-so-trendy Dahlia Lounge. Day in and day out, this box has to deal with a large neon chef dangling a flopping fish above his head. If that weren’t enough, he listens to a constant stream of people talking about Dahlia’s damned coconut cream pie, yet no one has ever offered him a slice.

293) In 1624, John Donne wrote that “no man is an island.” What Donne failed to anticipate, however, is how this sentiment might be applied to the humble mailbox. On an island. Surrounded by asphalt. Since Donne himself is unlikely to tackle this thorny issue any time soon, I thought I should investigate the matter myself by visiting this marooned mailbox and seeing how it’s doing. Overall, the box is quite content and he really enjoys the unobstructed 360-degree view. There’s the little matter of a constant fear of being run over, but he had done a pretty good job of suppressing that.

291) It is with a bit of bittersweet whimsy that I post this particular photo. Why? Because with this post I officially close out the expansive region of Ballard and its surrounding territories. Ballard has been a dependable source of boxes, always ready to offer one up whenever I was in need of a quick shot. But the well has run dry and this box proudly serves as an endcap to a glorious run.

290) Mailboxes can get rather, well… confused. Take this one, for example. When I asked how things are going, he proceeded to tell me that he was totally tripping. What? Yeah, he thinks someone dosed a letter with some LSD, because he’s been seeing wild colors ever since. I thought about telling him that no, that’s just the materials they used in the building across the street, but I knew he wouldn’t believe me. He’s still tripping.

289) I’ve come to the conclusion that mailboxes love boats. Or maybe they love water views. Whichever it is, all I know is that mailboxes that are near any of these tend to be the happiest mailboxes around. Take this fine double-wide. Sure, he’d much rather be on the west side of Alaskan Way where 99% of the pedestrian traffic is located, but from here he can still see the tall masts at the marina, and that keeps him perfectly content.

288) For today’s entry, I was lucky enough to meet up with my longtime friend Ellen and her (relatively) new pooch Gecko while they were out on walkies. As you can see, Ellen was very happy to be at the mailbox, but Gecko was far more interested in something happening across the street. The box was momentarily concerned that Ellen was trying to mail Gecko.

287) Either this photograph represents a class case of perspective, where objects appear to be false sizes due to their relative distance from the camera… or I have indeed shrunk to a size where I can easily fit inside a mailbox. I’m going to leave it to you to decide.