Note to self

Note to self for when I'm old and have moved away from Portland because it never felt like home:

There is this, at the end of May, at the beginning of my twenty-seventh year: at Whole Foods, a band of very Portland-looking guys playing very good music. It was pouring down rain, but a big crowd stood outside, watching them play. The store gave out samples of nine different beers, ten different teas and one kind of sausage (that is, the fake kind). They gave out watermelon, which tasted like summer even though it is 50 degrees and raining.

This is a city you could stay young forever in, and I have been feeling older. This may sound cheesy, but on the drive home, I knew I wasn't done here yet.