A small sample of the ways Portlandians are coping with tragedy:
Dearest Mother,
I hope this post finds you well. We have retreated into Goose Hollow, as the feds have now taken Nob Hill. Supplies are running low. IPA is nowhere to be found - there is only spiced cider left to drink, which nobody wants. We grabbed the last of the kale from what is left of the smoldering Burnside Zupans, which we believe is now in the hands of the enemy. Oh, how I miss the Eastside. I would give my left arm for a good smashburger right now. We were hoping to make our way up to Council Crest by December, but are so quite out of shape, so are taking it slowly. Perhaps bringing our fixies was a bad idea. Anyhoo, wish us luck!
Love and Kisses,
Shaun (she/they)
Please pray for the war ravished people of Portland. I’ll post some links to the Kombucha for Portland Go Fund Me.Dearest Mother,
I write to you from the front lines of the Great Portland Conflict of '25, where our battalion bravely holds the line between the artisanal kombucha stand and the vegan taxidermy co-op. The enemy, armed with reusable tote bags and passive-aggressive signage, launched a surprise assault during our morning mindfulness drills. Our oat milk rations are low, and Private Jasper refuses to fight until his chakras are realigned. Pray for us, Mother, and send more flannel.
