It's Saturday night, and the weather's miserable—which means business is fantastic.
August 27th, 2008
“Son of a bitch, you’re running up the meter!”27 comments
August 20th, 2008
"Hey bro, remember me? You wrote that story about me in the paper."3 comments
August 13th, 2008
“It’s the Californians, man, the Californians are the worst.”15 comments
August 6th, 2008
The middle-aged man I picked up at Vendetta is in a hyperactively verbose lather ...0 comments
July 23rd, 2008
When I step into the obese old woman's apartment5 comments
July 16th, 2008
The obese old woman at Fred Meyer has a bad hip and a wheelchair...8 comments
July 9th, 2008
“...I need to take a shower first and wash all of this blood off.”6 comments
July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”8 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
[January 2nd, 2008]
It’s Saturday night, and the weather’s miserable—which means business is fantastic. It’s almost 5 in the morning, and a big part of me’s ready to call it a night, go home to my warm bed and count my money.
But there’s also the greedy part of me. It’s huge, and it’s telling me to grab one last order, something that’ll hopefully take me back toward town.
I figure it serves me right when I end up at one of the sketchier dive motels on Northeast Sandy Boulevard. My mood is sour as I knock on the room’s door, and the disheveled character who answers looks every bit the meth geek.
He and a friend eventually stumble out and throw their huge backpacks in the trunk. The first guy growls at me to take them under the west end of the Marquam Bridge, or as close as they can get for the 22 bucks he hands me.
I take the cheap route, and ask why they’re headed under the freeway at 5 am when it’s pouring rain. The answer comes back that they’re on a high-stakes scavenger hunt with a $10,000 prize. They regale me with tales of high-speed chases, cryptic clues and immovable, thousand-pound objectives. I tell them about the old bus depot they’re probably headed to, and about going to a guerrilla noise show there.
I wave off the difference when the meter ends up at $28.30. Meth fantasy or not, I appreciate story.
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RECENT COMMENTS ON “It's Saturday night, and the weather's miserable—which means business is fantastic.”
The second I read "battery juice", I was reminded of The Sweet Smell of Success. One of J.J. Hunseckers most memorable line," I'd hate to take a bite outta you. You're a cookie full of ...
That old Greyhound depot is indeed cool; a last lingering reminder of Portland's once magnificent seediness. I was fascinated by the place long before I read "Fugitives..."
that's what i like about the NC column - experiencing a bit of reality noir without actually living at the joyce hotel.
Where exactly IS the old bus depot?
