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Then the Gangly Men Come Along

A story of pizza, phones, and personhood.

People are everywhere. You know what I mean? I can't seem to get away from them. Take downtown Portland for instance. Downtown Portland is full of them. It is like walking through an anthill or living inside a pinball machine. Bodies everywhere.

Most of the bodies don't even know I am there. They are content with the companionship of their agenda or their handheld mobile device, so I return the favor.

Okay, here's the deal. I don't even remember his name. Truth be told, I don't think I ever took the time to learn his name. This is just the beginning of my sickness… I mean… well, more on that later.

I was downtown. It was maybe 8:30pm on a Thursday evening. I had managed to find street parking (score!) just a few blocks away from Jake's Grill on Tenth Street (not to be confused with Jake's Famous Crawfish, which is up on Twelfth). I was hurrying to meet my friend Wilson.

It was a lovely evening, warm, and the streets were hopping. I was on my cell phone chatting with an old roommate ...

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