any city, it’s not always the surroundings that make it worth visiting; it’s the people—and this town is the ultimate grab bag. Fixie-bike drag racers, eco-warriors, steampunk foodies, zoobombers, caffeine snobs. You need to fulfill a lifelong search for someone with a fork tattooed on their neck? We got you covered. Couple years here in the rain and everyone wears the same thin coat of moss. It keeps us huddled together and loving weird things like bewitched donuts and refusing to use umbrellas when it’s pouring out.
It’s the people that make a city great, and today that’s us. Jamie and I, we are great.
In the middle of this block-tower paradise, there’s a splat of bricks called Pioneer Courthouse Square, and that’s where we sit near the steps, me in my wheels and her in a folding chair, holding hot cups of coffee. My first. Jamie bought one for me. “You think it’ll work?” I ask.
“It’s why I started drinking it. Five foot nine is tall enough—I have no desire to be a giraffe. So please, coffee”—she cradles it lovingly in her hands—“stunt my growth.”
Jamie smirks as she sips.
“I don’t blame you. I think girls should be short too,” I say, and take a sip myself.
“Hold up—don’t put words in my mouth,” she says. “I’m talking about me. My dad’s a former Trail Blazer, my mom’s Swedish, and I’m trying to stay under six feet tall so I can comfortably fit my knees in an airline seat, thank you very much.”
“Your dad’s a Blazer?”
She stares at me like I have nine heads. “Did you hear anything I said?”
“Well…yeah, but you have to admit, that’s an interesting factoid.”
“A factoid. Sure. He played two seasons before he tore both his ACLs and retired. Rip City, do or die. Now he sells boating equipment.” Jamie checks her phone for the time.
“I can sympathize,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to leave. “About the airplane. Those seats are so small, it’s unbearable.”
“What exactly did you mean, though, that girls should be short?”
I shrug. “It’s what I’ve heard.”
“From who?”
“My best friend, JP. He’s got standards. Girls should be short, not talk while you’re playing video games, and have long hair.”
“He sounds like a real prince.”
I scowl and look down at my coffee. It’s too hot. So far it tastes terrible. “I’m just saying.”
She motions to a lady walking across the plaza. “Her. That woman in the glasses—what do you think about her?”
“Like, in general?” I give her a once-over. “She’s got to be almost forty, too old to be wearing a hoodie and jeans. And they have holes in them. She looks like a hobo.”
Jamie nods curtly and points to another lady. “And her?”
“She needs to stand up straight; she’s too hunched over. It’s like she’d be pretty if she tried, but you can tell she’s not going to.”
“What a shame.”
“Well, kinda,” I say. “She looks like she’d be a nice girl if she smiled.”
Jamie gets out her camera and takes pictures of the two passersby before they disappear from the plaza to parts unknown. “You know what I think? They’re phenomenal as is. Maybe you’ll figure that out someday.” She stands up, gathering her things. “I don’t think I want to know what you think about me. Later.” Jamie throws her empty cup in the trash and walks away.
“Wait,” I call out after her.
She spins around. “Of all the people the universe has ever barfed up, who are you to judge, Dylan?”
I drop my coffee, brown liquid drenching the bricks as I roll after her. “Because I’m living it, okay? Every day. I am the one everyone sees and thinks, thank god, at least I don’t look like that.”
The wind kicks up her scarf and she smooths it back down.
She’s standing there with all her bones lining up in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible, and now I’m the one to roll my eyes. What a joke. She’s pretty and she knows it. Constantly
It’s the people that make a city great, and today that’s us. Jamie and I, we are great.
In the middle of this block-tower paradise, there’s a splat of bricks called Pioneer Courthouse Square, and that’s where we sit near the steps, me in my wheels and her in a folding chair, holding hot cups of coffee. My first. Jamie bought one for me. “You think it’ll work?” I ask.
“It’s why I started drinking it. Five foot nine is tall enough—I have no desire to be a giraffe. So please, coffee”—she cradles it lovingly in her hands—“stunt my growth.”
Jamie smirks as she sips.
“I don’t blame you. I think girls should be short too,” I say, and take a sip myself.
“Hold up—don’t put words in my mouth,” she says. “I’m talking about me. My dad’s a former Trail Blazer, my mom’s Swedish, and I’m trying to stay under six feet tall so I can comfortably fit my knees in an airline seat, thank you very much.”
“Your dad’s a Blazer?”
She stares at me like I have nine heads. “Did you hear anything I said?”
“Well…yeah, but you have to admit, that’s an interesting factoid.”
“A factoid. Sure. He played two seasons before he tore both his ACLs and retired. Rip City, do or die. Now he sells boating equipment.” Jamie checks her phone for the time.
“I can sympathize,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to leave. “About the airplane. Those seats are so small, it’s unbearable.”
“What exactly did you mean, though, that girls should be short?”
I shrug. “It’s what I’ve heard.”
“From who?”
“My best friend, JP. He’s got standards. Girls should be short, not talk while you’re playing video games, and have long hair.”
“He sounds like a real prince.”
I scowl and look down at my coffee. It’s too hot. So far it tastes terrible. “I’m just saying.”
She motions to a lady walking across the plaza. “Her. That woman in the glasses—what do you think about her?”
“Like, in general?” I give her a once-over. “She’s got to be almost forty, too old to be wearing a hoodie and jeans. And they have holes in them. She looks like a hobo.”
Jamie nods curtly and points to another lady. “And her?”
“She needs to stand up straight; she’s too hunched over. It’s like she’d be pretty if she tried, but you can tell she’s not going to.”
“What a shame.”
“Well, kinda,” I say. “She looks like she’d be a nice girl if she smiled.”
Jamie gets out her camera and takes pictures of the two passersby before they disappear from the plaza to parts unknown. “You know what I think? They’re phenomenal as is. Maybe you’ll figure that out someday.” She stands up, gathering her things. “I don’t think I want to know what you think about me. Later.” Jamie throws her empty cup in the trash and walks away.
“Wait,” I call out after her.
She spins around. “Of all the people the universe has ever barfed up, who are you to judge, Dylan?”
I drop my coffee, brown liquid drenching the bricks as I roll after her. “Because I’m living it, okay? Every day. I am the one everyone sees and thinks, thank god, at least I don’t look like that.”
The wind kicks up her scarf and she smooths it back down.
She’s standing there with all her bones lining up in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible, and now I’m the one to roll my eyes. What a joke. She’s pretty and she knows it. Constantly
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