We don't leave the house much, and most times that is just fine. But the other night, after making plans with my brother that fell through, Mitch and I decided that an outing was in order and we headed out for the fanciest restaurant around in jeans and sneakers.
Nimbus is a sleek, classy joint with red walls and a glossy black ceiling. There is a mirror behind the bar that makes the rows of bottles seem to extend back indefinately; the servers wear black pants and aprons and pretty shirts and they smile a lot. Perched atop what is currently the tallest building in Bellingham (The Bellingham Towers: 14 whopping storeys high, and soon to be surpassed by some 18 story monstrosity full of glass-fronted condos), Nimbus lets you look down on the tarpaper rooftops of the stores and offices and apartments of downtown Bellingham in a way that is a bit disconcerting at first: everything looks black and gray and industrial, but gracefully interrupted by trees and glimpses of the silvery bay and the watery violet silohettes of the San Juan islands.
We pick a table in the bar and order pints of the very best beer around (North Fork stout). We sip our beer quietly and look out the windows, pointing out landmarks and remarking on how small the people, cars and houses are from Way Up Here. We also laugh at ourselves and our pretty little town: we are not that high up, after all.