on those sad streets of portland perusing cracks in the sidewalks of our college memories with old friends and new jokes and the same old tears. good words flow like liquid cocaine at last call before we beat the streets to friend's home and some semblance of sleep until dreams give way to headaches and we stagger to my father's place for a bloody, rare treat of a meal, bloody mary, red beer, steak and eggs and a few fresh memories we're not sure what to do with amid this cacaphony of unfocused potential. one bag of books and too many fragile moments later we're back in oly, one last beer, some smoke and then solitude for us all.
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