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It seemed like a good idea, but random nothingness just isn't going to work.

I took a long walk last night. I wanted to get some air, but didn't take my bike, because my knee was still bruised from a wreck I had earlier in the day. All over Irvington, I wandered past houses of sleeping people at 3 a.m.

Portland used to be such a magical place to me. But, when you hate your roommate, hate your job, spend too much time with a girl who leads you on and gives you no respect, aren't in school, and don't have any concrete plans for yourself, the magic dies away quickly. Everywhere I looked, I said "this is just another place." It's a very beautiful place, a place where old trees in residential neighborhoods have bulbous moss-covered bases the size of small cars. It's a place where the summer air smells sweet, and the winter rain feels soft. It's just a place, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.