After driving a thousand miles, I pulled into the driveway of rental house in about the only neighborhood I could afford: SE 67th off Flavel. I was beat; grabbed my sleeping bag, found the key under the mat, and sacked out in the back bedroom.
Next morning I got up with the sun since the place had no curtains. After splashing some water on my face, and something else on the toilet bowl, I headed out to start unloading my Subaru station wagon.
On one side was painted “Go Ducks;” the other, “Go Beavs.” The car was empty. On the windshield was a computer-printed note: “Welcome to Portland. Thank you for your donation. The Felony Flats Unemployment Committee.”
Free of earthy possessions – hey, at least they didn’t take the car! I knew I was going to like it here.
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