How was I supposed to survive here?
These Portlanders were an entirely different breed of white people.
– Gabby Rivera
Portland? In a sentence??
The homeless here have better sleeping bags than I do.
Later I see a panhandler setting up shop outside Ben & Jerry’s, writing a new clever sign why he needs your money.
Notice he has a better Magic Marker than I do.
Town has changed. My old liquor store is now Animal Health Care Center.
Stayed at the conveniently-located Crystal Hotel.
Across the street from Jake’s, two blocks from Powell’s bookstore and easily within walking distance of a dozen breweries.
Paid extra for a private bath.
Next time I think I’ll stay somewhere with a closet or a bureau.
And a television. Maybe a refrigerator and enough lighting to read.
Perhaps even a hair dryer. A clothes iron would be sweet.
There is a salt water pool in the basement. As well as Al’s Bar.
And the excellent Zeus Cafe on premises.
Try the charcuterie ($14).
Spanish chorizo, tasso ham, 12-year-old cheddar, pickled leeks, kool-aid cucumbers and Ken’s Artisan Bakery Ciabatta.
Which you will need to smother the flames in your tummy.
Sunday brunch menu lists “seasonal bellini with bubbles.” Sounds like a Jersey guy cheating on his wife.
So I ordered an artisan Bloody Mary with more vegetables than a cornucopia.
And an artisanal omelet.
It’s Portland. It’s all artisanal, even the marijuana.
Portland was a dream both in the literal sense and the metaphorical sense, both tangible and not – a fleeting affair you want to hold on to but can’t, so you try memorizing her every detail only to fail to do so in the consumption, in the savoring, in the absorbing of yourself into her. When she’s gone, she comes to you in snippets, replaying in your mind like a fragmented picture show.”
― Jackie Haze