600 dollar day. What I know is this: you can never tell what other people will buy. I think most of it is shit, and my few treasures sit out there, glaring bright as rubies in sand, and the masses walk on by. The process I go through to finally place my treasures in plain view, pearls before swine, available to just anyone for a mere fraction of the original cost, is pathetic. It'll be the first to go, I tell myself.. I'll regret it forever, the voices assure me. I'll never find another (lampshade, oil and vinegar set, cape cod curtains...) Yet there they sit, among the refuse of leftover pharmacy salesmen coffee cups and obsolete computer manuals. After a few yard sales, you'd think I'd get the hang of it. You'd think I'd just toss the best of the best to the tasteless wolves that get up at six when an eight o'clock start is published in the paper, the faceless hordes who would rather have window pane widgets than an arts and crafts style headboard. Fuck them. And thanks for the money.
Learning Portland: phase two. I know I said earlier that all roads eventually turn into freeways up here, but that isn't entirely true, as is little of the crap I finally get around to documenting. So far, those roads that do not turn into freeways eventually take you to the airport, and the way you can tell you're at the airport is that the street signs are blue instead of green. I still haven't figured out where exactly the airport begins and the rest of the world ends, but I'm working on it. I'll keep you posted.
I am settling in, and am still in some phase of disbelief about my altered state. Better day by day.
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