Portland, My Little Liberal Hipster Redneck

When I get to Portland I’m afraid I’ll have to vicariously smoke cigarettes in back alleys and friends’ basements. I’m scared I might run over an emo/scene/hipster midwest/east coast transplant with my car. Or run one over riding a fixed-gear bicycle with my big black motorcycle. Or maybe a 21 speed sponsored neon spandex Tour de Francer. Or having a huckleberry in a pickup run over me and my big black motorcycle. I’m uneasy about the gossip/politics of the city’s administration and the impending unemployment and economic depression that looms over the city like a smog of corporate locusts.

But…

I miss the crisp air and fresh seasons and the pseudo/uber/progressive/ liberal/ redneck mindset of the literati and rockabilly, tattooed, pierced, horn-rimmed and shoulder-bagged, and everyone in between. The mix and mash of a salient core of thinkers, drinkers and lingerers. Miss the trees and streets, the dogs and all of America’s unnoticed qualities that are never more apparent until you spend some time far away from the music, art, books and films that define a charming little skyline and where green is now more than something you score for 5 bucks in the park.