It Was Written (Portland 9/30) :

I'm laying here in a bathing suit next to a river I have just been informed is made of snow melt, in a park in the middle of Portland, on a patch of grass, between two bridges. This is not what I was planning on when they said "waterfront", and I look ridiculous.

My bikini is bright yellow and pink floral print and is made entirely of ruffles. It's the kind of thing that an old woman might wear, or maybe a toddler, but I am so obviously neither of these things that I look cute, in an ironic sort of way. The bathing suit itself is not why I look ridiculous.

It's because no one else is wearing a bathing suit at all. I look displaced and out of sorts, like a tourist, a foreigner, or that I got dropped off here against my knowledge. I look like I don't belong here, and the writer in me notes the metaphor.

Regardless, I start snoozing in the middle of this city oasis in something that covers a little more than a bra and panties. It provides me no coverage physically, or with a defense should I be sexually assaulted. "well why was she wearing that?" But for some reason that fact that it is the middle of the day and I'm on a beach towel makes my outfit and behavior somewhat acceptable. For me, and the homeless man passed out on towel about 50 feet away.

A copy of the book I'm reading lies next to my head like a bright yellow thought bubble "No One Belongs Here More Than You" it assures. But I'm not sure if it's talking to me or the bum. Maybe this is his living room.

The sprinklers just came on, and I go running, so I have no time to decide.
And, suddenly my bathing suit seems practical.


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