You were the sexy blonde woman at the Queen Anne QFC last night about 6:30. Well, I guess technically you entered the store at 6:27 and left at 6:48 (I like detective shows). I was the guy in the poultry section who kept lifting the frozen chickens out of the freezer, holding them above my head, screaming "be free," and then dropping them to the ground. A few weeks ago, I saw a story on Dateline about a boy who had fallen through the ice and been declared dead when his nearly frozen body was pulled from the lake, only to be resuscitated minutes later. You can see where this is going; we know the chickens are frozen, but are they really dead? My role here may seem purely humanitarian, but it's also practical. Who wants to buy a chicken, take it home, and then realize they suddenly have a new pet? Anyway, I could tell by the way that you were looking at me that you liked the cut of my jib. If you remember, I asked you your name, and you said "I, Carrie Mace," Cool name. Kind of like the architect, I.M. Pei, I guess. But you left so suddenly, I couldn't get your number. Coffee?