I’m in Portland visiting my abandoned life.
Check it: everyone is quite improbably… seven years older.
The children I knew as babies are all grown up, and Chorus members are in their thirties. There has been a migration from the Mississippi neighborhood to Cully. The Seed building is still standing, but many other landmarks have vanished.
Though aside from these superficial differences, everything is pretty much the same. Chaos, drama, intrigue, music, tea parties, zines.
Last night I was absolutely entranced to find myself in the living room of a house on Emerson at midnight, drinking wine and listening to Polly tell all the stories I missed because we haven’t spoken since I moved away.
Two days is never enough time in this town, but it is the limit of what I can tolerate. I miss this life – these friends – the streets – the river.
