The streets of Portland

I forgot how totally colorful Portland can be.

There was the individual we shared an elevator with today at Pioneer Place who had the voice of a man, the body of a woman, and some impressive purple fur boots.

There was the steady stream of pierced youth, smoking lots of cigarettes and using colorful language, who seemed to populate every corner of the city.

There was the protest crowd outside of Schumacher’s Furs with poster-sized pictures of skinned animals and individuals dressed up as furry animals.

There were the old men gathered at outdoor chess tables, sharing booze and strategies in Pioneer Courthouse Square. 

There were the teeming masses in Powells, people of every shape and size, scouring shelves for treasures of theology, geology, and fantasy.

I have become very accustomed to the feel of L.A., so much so that being in Portland today felt to some degree like a cross-cultural experience. There is so much character to this place; much of it rough and unkempt, unlike L.A. 

I do love it here. The drizzle, the hills, the public transportation, the coffee… And the thing I realized today is that one of the things I miss about Portland is the way people are so free here to be strange. In L.A. there is such a greater sense of a quest for uniformity, in hair color and noses and sports cars. In Portland, there is no such dress code. And your breaths here feel just a little bit deeper.