Dear Portlanders

There are a thousand ways to introduce yourselves, endless opportunities for the creative conversationalist to make a great first impression. But day after day, hour after hour, so many of you just walk up to me and ask my back, side, or (rarest of all) face a question without so much as a “Hey, fuckhead,” before, “Where’s the whipped cream?” I’m not a corporate drone. I’m a goddamn person who scrapes by week to week so you can pick an apple, and peel a banana from the comfort of an air-conditioned building, so the least you can do is greet me.


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