Last Time I Was In Portland
It was something special, like this.
I went alone. Like this.
There’s a neon cross rotating around clockwise, a Romeo and Juliet tribute to me. Likewise.
Elliot Smith is singing to me, even though he’s not with us, about painful love. Like this.
Why do I feel so much pain? Like this.
My fortune, from a Vietnamese place, recently said I’d always be surrounded by good friends. Like this?
You told me you’d be here for me when I needed you. I need you now. Like this.
It’s amazing the lack of life around me. I need the wild. I need life around me. Like this.
“It’s a tribute to love.” I chuckled to myself. Like this.
A beautiful woman passes me by, as she smiles my way. Like this.
I wait. I’m waiting for my free ride to Oregon. Like this.
Who wouldn’t be interested in my way of life. Like this.
I think to myself, “I might be stuck here again, alone, here in Western San Francisco.” Several trucks pass by. Like his.
Still nothing. What about life around me? Still nothing. Like this.
I move to higher ground hoping to be noticed. Like this.
I arrive here in Portland. Like this.
Now I preform a magic trick.
Written by Blake Byers
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