I arrived in Portland last night. It wasn’t really night though; it only looked like it and felt like it. I showed up in shorts because the one pair of sweatpants I own officially smell like a road trip. Trust me. I know. I’m wearing them again now because it’s freaking freezing here.

The guy, Allan, who opened the door, after I wandered the street a total loner looking for the Airbnb, and finally decided to try the one that I thought looked like the picture the most, in the dark of the night people will find her, a super tall dude opened the door a crack and glared down at me.

Thank you Portland for weed and making people paranoid of a small little woman like me.

He was determined that I might not be the new guest. “Show me the information of communicating with the host.” I pulled out my phone, shivering mind you because I’m in fucking shorts and just want to curl up and hide, “Here, here” I pulled up the Airbnb application and showed him the messaging with the host.

“Okay. Cool.” He finally let me in. Then just like that, it was cool. He completely ceased to think of me as some kind of imposter of the night. Woo life.





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