confusion doesn't always mean uncertainty

As my time in Seattle continues, at a steady enough pace, soon to pick up I'm being told, I take what I can get and spend my days going back and forth between being good to myself and making...interesting life choices. That's besides the point. I sit here in a Starbucks, yes I know I know but it get to use the internets and people watch in one of the most dynamic sections of town. I just completed my YMCA child abuse prevention awareness modules and paperwork and as I lift my head to see the sun, start playing my music, I sense it's  good time to take a few notes of the interesting intersection of lives I see in front of me, so bare with me please.
I live next to a Bread of Life Mission and other social service organizations that serve the King county less fortunate with food, showers, work and shelter. Pioneer Square, the original city center of Seattle is a bustling hot spot for homeless wanderers, work stay participants, tourists, locals on their way to a Mariners/ Sounders game and a very few residents ( including myself). In back alleys, the youth of our nation get high, argue about each others legitimacy and other nonsense. On the water front those without a home find solitude with a nice view of the west, Olympic mountain ranges and incoming cruise ships carrying waves of tourists sure to clog their streets. People are coming and going from their service jobs that make up a huge percentage of industry throughout Seattle, right up there with Boeing and Microsoft. Art is everywhere, as tattoos, on murals, in galleries, and on street corners in the form on buskers or public art. Girls wear their skirts, ride their bikes with dogs in their baskets, stop for red lights and turn heads. The man sitting across form me in front of the Italian Roast sign looks happy but perhaps not with this reality. Magic Mouse Toys has an underground tour group of 30 in front of it waiting to hear about Seattle's seedy happenings during prohibition; when seamstresses were taxable prostitutes and booze was allowed only if you knew the right stairwell to the underground. Sounds of the city are just as messy. I hear erroneous shouts on streets corners, conversations for one, business men expressing impatience, tourists talking about the Starbucks in Tennessee, delivery trucks and construction on the Alaskan Viaduct, duck tour quacking and horns honking but not at the bikers taking up a lane rather at other cars who continue to fail at making left turns. The pungent mix of pizza, coffee, Vietnamese/ Thai food, washed up fish, garbage, urine, concrete dust, and when the wind blows, fresh sea air fills the city as well as the sounds. Coming close but not quite overwhelming the senses, this place is rather a confused hodgepodge mix up of worlds collided into a center or square or hill. In a different world and up these hills, the other day I biked close to 20 miles and found Lake Washington and a serene scene of families and suburban Seattle-ites enjoying their weekend on many a different lake front beach with a collective appreciation for one of the first beautiful weekends of the Seattle summer. It seems everyone has a different agenda, no one the same, a world of different drum beats.