
I went to Oregon. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t had any money in a long, long time, but I have somehow accumulated thousands of dollars worth of flight credit, so I used some of it to get here (or there, rather—as I write this, I’m on a train from Seattle back down to Portland).
In California I have a lot of friends who are from Oregon. They’re always talking about how nice it is. And I thought, well, I’d like to see that, I reckon. That’s all I ever want to do, you know: see stuff. So I used some of those miles I have and got a ticket to Portland. I booked an Amtrak ticket out of Union Station there, hoping to see Seattle too. My thinking was, hell, if you’re going to go to one, you might as well go to both.
And here I am, in the Pacific Northwest. My clothes are soggy as hell. The little black cat pin on my denim jacket has rust collecting at the bottom of it. I’ve been drinking coffee pretty much nonstop. Good lord, I like this place.



