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Welcome to Margaritaville

A day in the city with $25 was far more liberal than my normal budget and schedule. I was nervous, hot and sweaty considering all my options. Avoiding major gunfire became my top priority, after that consideration the City of Roses bloomed in all her/his/its splendor. I sauntered down to Yamhill and Park to Bad Kitty Koffee where the owner only smirks when I order Decaf with whip cream ($25-1.50-tip=$22.50).

I paused to consider a foray into Banana Republic. I quickly decided against it once I saw the Banana Republicans streaming into the glass house of a store. Watching shoppers in their brushed chinos with weathered (sic) linens gave me a severe need to be hip so I wandered to the triangle (Burnside and 11th) and hung out in Reading Frenzy and the vintage porn store (FREE!) before sitting myself in Crowsenberg’s Half and Half and consuming their stunning version of a Muffuletta sandwich ($22.50-5.5-tip=$16.00).

Next I traipsed through the color coded floors of Powell’s (FREE!), used their public bathroom (FREE!) and decided to amuse myself with a shopping game. I walked into a random aisle and grabbed the first paperback I saw. It was my way of being open to new ideas (FREE!). I ended up with a book on cat psychology. I changed the game to the best book out of three and ended up purchasing a small paperback of D.H. Lawrence’s “Sons and Lovers” ($16.00-5.50=$10.50). Off I went feeling literate, spontaneous and very P-town (not the most unlikely combination).

I wandered up Everett Street to look at all the trees in bloom (FREE!) I crossed 19th and ambled my way through the industrial zone of Vaughn Street (FREE!). I chatted with a few locals on the way (FREE!). I then stumbled into the staggering pull of the margarita tractor beam of Acapulco’s Gold (Northwest Vaughn and 27th). One impressively strong margarita on the rocks with salt ($10.50-5.50=$5.00) left me with a single Lincoln. I left it on the bar as a tip. I wished I’d

had more left to give to the attractive smile, affable service and, of course, the bummed cigarette.

– Jason Damron