one

this isn't where i started, but it’s the place i call my home. somehow the humble beginnings, the happy childhood eludes me. portland, the city of misfits, starving artists, and frustrated socialites. the city that both breeds and accepts all kinds. a city full of people desperate for attention, but in hiding, wanting to be left alone.

in case you couldn't tell, i'm describing myself here.

the scene here is west burnside street, very early morning. i'm walking, my camera in one hand and a cigarette in another. i feel like an explorer on a long-since-abandoned trail, but i'm not the first one here, and i won't be the last. i probably won't even show up on the radar, so many others pass through here.