2005-07-22 || 10:16 a.m.

|| portland diorama ||

i am trying to savor the magical part of being in a new city and feeling absolutely enchanted by everything. i realize there is a small window that will soon close once i stop paying so much attention, after i have seen certain buildings enough times and have become acclimated to the weather, once i know all the street names and grow accustomed to the strange portland insects and bar food (tots! everywhere! and no one seems to get huevos rancheros right.). yesterday i walked home from downtown in fancy shoes that clicked on the sidewalk. my skirt ruffled up in the wind and i had to hold my hair down at intersections. i passed parks and junkies and sidewalk cafes, statues and the courthouse and portland rush hour. i walked over the hawthorne bridge and stopped to look down at the water in case i felt the need to throw my heart down or maybe just spit and watch it fall like a parachute. right now it all feels like i am walking around in a miniature city; here are the trees and here are the tombstones and this is the tiny man who will ask you for money on your way to buy a cold drink at the plaid pantry. it doesn't feel quite real yet. halfway home i called mum and pops to proclaim my gainful employment, and when i told my mum i was into my second half-hour of walking home, she laughed at me, most likely because barbara hand does not understand the walking of distances longer than three minutes, but also because it is all so odd to her: the firstborn walking circles round a make-believe city, crossing bridges and passing graveyards and stopping to dump pebbles out of her shoe, unlocking the door to her cardboard apartment to open the window and wave emphatically at the smiley-faced moon suspended with fishing line.

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