There’s a red porta-potty in Southeast Portland that, for a long time, had a message spray-painted across its hard-plastic surface: “Marry Me Baby.” Every time I drove by, it made me laugh. Sometimes I’d picture a girl walking up to it, reading the message, knowing it was intended for her, shrugging, saying “why not” and walking in.
I left Portland about a decade ago (around the time all my friends started moving out past 82rd) but this post reminds me of the parts of the city I actually miss. I was a substitute teacher without a car so I spent a lot of time moving through the parts of the city that don't fit the NYT ad profile. Living alongside people that had grown up there and were building inclusive communities as fast as they could before being priced out of the neighborhood. Organizing resources and protests. Defending against Nazis. "Never polarities" lol.
11. Marry Me, Baby.
I left Portland about a decade ago (around the time all my friends started moving out past 82rd) but this post reminds me of the parts of the city I actually miss. I was a substitute teacher without a car so I spent a lot of time moving through the parts of the city that don't fit the NYT ad profile. Living alongside people that had grown up there and were building inclusive communities as fast as they could before being priced out of the neighborhood. Organizing resources and protests. Defending against Nazis. "Never polarities" lol.
I love this so, so much.