Colin, my gracious host attempted to explain the intricacies of American Football over some Christmas eve beers. I Apportioned false interest for a good few hours until waning after the third game and admitting that I couldn't bear another. I rocked a bus into Downtown Seattle for tonight's pleasing American misadventure. I sashayed into a quiet bar on 'University Street'. Inside we had a hipster bartender serving a grubby permaculture enthusiast. He sat his shot glass on the bar and motioned me to follow him. We walked across the street and into another bar. The gin was in hipsters veins and the night had began rolling, he was right, who was he to try to stop it. "Will, It's Xmas eve and we've earned it, the boss got a bit 'a dough anyway". I agree. We had earned it. I'm not sure what I had done to earn it but who am I to question the man? He locked his bar and that was that.
We roved up and down a strip of bars and ran into Permaculture Guy, he was busy chatting to a Negro girl. Moving on, the new brotherhood attempted to pick up 'babes', forgetting about all the gin drank at our hipster's establishment. I spewed up in the toilet and bartenders pretty friend left unannounced. The nights fate did dawn on us and I slept sideways on hipsters futon. It was a good sleep, I heard him leave at 7am to go clean the drunken mess we left in his bar. The inquisitive housecat, George Michael, kept trying to fit his head into my glass of water. Apparently The Permaculture Enthusiast paid for his beers with DMT, our hipster bartender told me this when he returned. Fucking George Michael finally knocked my water over as our hipster bartender smoked the DMT. So that was Xmas morning in Seattle. Hungover, disciplining George Micheal and watching our hipster bartender grapple with the otherworldly spirals of Dimethyltryptamine.
When it was time to wade through Seattles morning mist to Colin's (The sport dude's house and where my bags were) house I discovered I had lost his address. Supposedly I had put it in my wallet during American football class. I had a foggy two hour jaunt through Seattlan suburbia trying to recall atleast a portion of Colin's address. I did curry some morale from a chance witnessing of a woman hysterically screaming as her golden retriever mauled a squirrel. I failed to work out America's grid system, I gave up. I was enjoying Christmas less and less with every step. Feeling rather homeless and lonely, refuge was taken in Starbucks. The wholemeal chap whom lent his laptop congratulated me on my resourcefulness in my time of need. Later that night I minded Colin's house and he headed out with his surrogate family. A lonely Christmas was spent eating microwavables and watching my sundrenched family drink beers in front of a webcam. Thank god for technology.
I met Dustin in a car park. I had organised a lift off him from a carpooling website. Dustin was an archetypal hipster with a Volvo fetish. I had organised to ride with him to hipster Zion, Portland. Dustin had square sunnies, a quality scarf, played in a folk-pop act and drove a wooden paneled Wagon. He was self-aware and able to laugh at himself. Great, so we hung shit on hipsters the whole way there. Dustin predicted that hipsters would start using home phones in the their share-houses. Doing away with mobiles altogether and making themselves 'hard to get onto'. Over a coffee we watched the fixed gear bikes careen past, I thanked Dustin for the ride and parted ways. I've got him on Facebook but we haven't chatted since! I arrived in Portland two days ago (that's what the draft says but you know its bullshit) and I've been lodging with friends of my Australian mate Kroctopolis and his girlfriend Ivy. It's a big mouldy share-house with a shitload of people in it. They have a Christmas tree made out of books and a dog that wants to rape me. Ivy called Tabitha, head mistress of Portland house, and organised my visit. On account of Ivy, Tabitha is now obliged to show me the time of my life as well.
We roved up and down a strip of bars and ran into Permaculture Guy, he was busy chatting to a Negro girl. Moving on, the new brotherhood attempted to pick up 'babes', forgetting about all the gin drank at our hipster's establishment. I spewed up in the toilet and bartenders pretty friend left unannounced. The nights fate did dawn on us and I slept sideways on hipsters futon. It was a good sleep, I heard him leave at 7am to go clean the drunken mess we left in his bar. The inquisitive housecat, George Michael, kept trying to fit his head into my glass of water. Apparently The Permaculture Enthusiast paid for his beers with DMT, our hipster bartender told me this when he returned. Fucking George Michael finally knocked my water over as our hipster bartender smoked the DMT. So that was Xmas morning in Seattle. Hungover, disciplining George Micheal and watching our hipster bartender grapple with the otherworldly spirals of Dimethyltryptamine.
When it was time to wade through Seattles morning mist to Colin's (The sport dude's house and where my bags were) house I discovered I had lost his address. Supposedly I had put it in my wallet during American football class. I had a foggy two hour jaunt through Seattlan suburbia trying to recall atleast a portion of Colin's address. I did curry some morale from a chance witnessing of a woman hysterically screaming as her golden retriever mauled a squirrel. I failed to work out America's grid system, I gave up. I was enjoying Christmas less and less with every step. Feeling rather homeless and lonely, refuge was taken in Starbucks. The wholemeal chap whom lent his laptop congratulated me on my resourcefulness in my time of need. Later that night I minded Colin's house and he headed out with his surrogate family. A lonely Christmas was spent eating microwavables and watching my sundrenched family drink beers in front of a webcam. Thank god for technology.
I met Dustin in a car park. I had organised a lift off him from a carpooling website. Dustin was an archetypal hipster with a Volvo fetish. I had organised to ride with him to hipster Zion, Portland. Dustin had square sunnies, a quality scarf, played in a folk-pop act and drove a wooden paneled Wagon. He was self-aware and able to laugh at himself. Great, so we hung shit on hipsters the whole way there. Dustin predicted that hipsters would start using home phones in the their share-houses. Doing away with mobiles altogether and making themselves 'hard to get onto'. Over a coffee we watched the fixed gear bikes careen past, I thanked Dustin for the ride and parted ways. I've got him on Facebook but we haven't chatted since! I arrived in Portland two days ago (that's what the draft says but you know its bullshit) and I've been lodging with friends of my Australian mate Kroctopolis and his girlfriend Ivy. It's a big mouldy share-house with a shitload of people in it. They have a Christmas tree made out of books and a dog that wants to rape me. Ivy called Tabitha, head mistress of Portland house, and organised my visit. On account of Ivy, Tabitha is now obliged to show me the time of my life as well.
