i’ve grown up in the same house. same stairs to my room, same noises out my window. 205 sits not to far from my house, far enough to not think about it, but close enough that i can hear the jake brakes as the trucks scream by. a year ago i moved to the beach, out from under the watchful eye of my parents. i found a room mate that i got along with, at least for a short time. we never really fought, but i was never satisfied with him as a mate. his friends became mine. that was great. we had a dream to own a store some day where i’d sell records to soak in, and he’d sell guitars to make more records. it’ll never happen. the sound of the road was replaced by wind and the waves. nice. i worked at dq of all places. then i moved out of the apt. and into a house with an older guy (34) and got a new job at a small market. that was nice. then, when my friend committed suicide on easter, i started thinking about coming home. a month and a half later. i’m back in my old room, listening to the same brakes, climbing the same stairs. but i’m happy now. portland isn’t a frozen ride through the mt.s anymore. it’s a short drive down grand ave. to the best record shops in miles. my shows are better. my job is better. my friends are closer and more attractive. maybe someday, russ, josh, and i will have a house.

adam.

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