Let me start with saying: goddamn! What a fuckin day, and what a fuckin’ show out by the Portland area community. At its peak; Joey could only muster at most around 250–300 people from his cabal of closest cultists,
in compared to the quadruple digit show out from the Portland area community. It was not easy, as always. It never is and I do not anticipate it getting any easier, especially since this wasn’t the last of Patriot Prayer like many people across the political spectrum were hoping, as well as considering the violently authoritarian response from the Portland Police.
Again; underneath the watchful eye of state sanctioned and armed babysitters, Patriot Prayer has their playdate in the park where they got to make lots of silly videos in an attempt to cover up for their compliance in and encouragement of the fascist creep. As I have previously said; we all could have been doing much more productive or enjoyable things if Joey was capable of checking his ego. Nearly none of the violence that Joey and his harem had been hyping up came to fruition. If anyone committed violence, it was the Portland Police Bureau.
Funnily enough, the cries and shrieks from the far right in the past weeks about Portland Police allegedly oppressing Patriot Prayer/Proud Boys’ “free speech” had turned into laughter when Portland Police turned that same violence on counter-protestors. Truly, the paradigm of integrity, and unbiased respectors of free speech like they claim!
In my opinion, it was the weeks leading up to the event that actually carried the most emotional weight and stress. Joey and his friends made a big show of talking about how peaceful they were; then turning around and talking big game about citizen arresting protestors with the use of cigar clippers included, mowing down
“ANTIFA” with their rifles, and hyping up each other’s bloodthirst. Many Patriot Prayer/Proud Boy members, with the highest amount of informational and operational security, also plotted on the secure website, Facebook, the methods to which they planned to “infiltrate” the black bloc with. More than usual, Joey and his little friends made quite an online spectacle, that will one day come back to bite them if they ever get to fulfill their violent fantasies in full.
In response to the corrosive fearmongering done by far-right extremists; the Portland area community stepped the fuck up. The recently dismantled Occupy ICE occupation seems to have been like a shot in the arm of steroids for the local Leftist activist community. Affinity groups, established organizations, and many unaffiliated individuals; all put down their nitpicking and personal dramas and came together to bash some fash. Joey and his little friends wasted their day and got none of the blood they came for
(Image above is the flag of the Chinook Nation, who is in thr process of reclaiming their stolen land!) Preparation and planning for the alleged bloodbath Joey wanted to happen in Portland was not easy, but it was productive. Meetings among people, “business” dinners, and unofficial conferences were held constantly and all over the city by leftist activists and other citizens who are just plain old sick of Patriot Prayer’s shit. Despite the fact that the Patriot Prayer march was a relative nothingburger compared to the fascists’ online posturing; the community was prepared for anything and everything. Detailed plans to sabotage or otherwise stop fascists at all costs were made in excruciating detail with even more excruciating consideration given towards alternate plans. Considering the sheer amount of organizing and discipline in the
PNW left that is now occurring; Joey and his proud boys should be maximizing their boot slurping and be absolutely grateful that Portland Police had such a heavy handed response to people opposing their white supremacy and identitarian extremism. If it had not been for Portland Police Bureau’s violently authoritarian tactics none of them would have made it to Berkeley, or even back across the river that night. Across the political spectrum, people were more than prepared for anything, even to lay down their lives to defend Portland; especially since Patriot Prayer members were hyping themselves up for this to be a Charlottesville 2.
The morning of, I held my partner for a little bit longer and lingered a bit longer at breakfast with my family. Many other people in the area did too. Portland was described by some as seeming to be completely still and holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. When we finally got into downtown Portland it was around 10AM. Summers have been getting warmer over the years and today didn’t seem to be shaping up to be an exception to that already. Standing in front of the Yamhill pub, I lost count of the police vehicles within minutes. In hindsight, this should have been a sign of how the day would turn out. The air was stale and thick, for a few moments i felt choked by many things at once.
Considering that Portland’s most wonderful dive bar was unfortunately closed that early in the morning, my partner and I retreated to one of the many pseudo-hip bars that cater to the gentrifying class who usually wakes up that early usually to satiate our mild alcoholism and maybe eat something before heading into war, prison, or death. Portland had a sense of a stillness before a storm. The eScooter riders and tourists continued on, people went to work; but the tension was so thick it was palpable in ways that words will always fail to describe. Even those unaffiliated with any of the recent street politics seemed to be very aware of what was to come. The conservatives had made a large enough of a spectacle that nobody could turn away.
While we sat in some bar & grill on one of the top floors of one of the polished but empty-feeling malls that dot Portland. I played a few rounds of pinball while my partner ordered the most gentrified nachos ever (there was fucking cauliflower in it) and some drinks. This was a mistake on my part, and violence had already started to rupture out like an aneurysm on the waterfront. Colloquially known as “Bike Fascist”, this Bianchi riding (Pantani would be absolutely ashamed of you, if you are reading this Bike Fascist) white-supremacy knight was eager to begin Starting Shit even before his friends came over from across the bridge it seemed.
“Your phone is going off…a lot” my partner said when I returned from a rousing game of AC/DC pinball. Before I even sat down it felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
“It’s happening, they’re already getting the blood they want” was the thought scrolling through my head in an eerily calm manner as I unlocked my phone. Thankfully, the bloodbath I had numbed myself for hadn’t yet occured, but violence had already started. Bike Fascist, and him alone, had apparently already begun to assault people on the waterfront. Thankfully, leftists were already beginning to congregate on the waterfront in groups, and there were a significant amount of Woke Liberals who had also called the police and began the inflation of social media for the day. Quickly, the Bike Fascist had been neutralized by a bold leftist who I would find out later was sadly temporarily incarcerated by the Portland Police for defending his community against identitarian terrorism. Without his intervention however, at least one fascist would have been allowed to wreak havoc on anyone who looked like they may hold oppositional views, so for that I am grateful for his sacrifice.
After picking around the most heretical part of the dish called “nachos” and a few drinks later I was making my way back down Yamhill towards the waterfront. Normally, there would be families picnicking and playing along this stretch of the waterfront near Salmon St. Springs; but today it was desolate. Riot police and barricades has aided in the far right fear mongering that made Portland area families feel unsafe to be in the very communities they live in on that day. The fountains splashed without the sound of children enjoying childhood, the paths were mostly absent of the usual cyclists enjoying the view of bridges, and folks who for whatever reasons spent their days at the waterfront were plain old noticeably absent. In their place was metal barricades and riot cops decked out in gear that made them look like engorged beetles.
I became swallowed up in a group of comrades, who all took turns in a small alcove near the World Trade Center to mask and gear up. The humour was as dark as the masks on the participants in the black bloc. Joey’s marches had become terrifyingly mundane, people seemed desensitized in a strange way to the fact that Joey Gibson was now regularly leading marches full of armed and unstable identitarian extremists through the streets surrounding Terry Schrunk Plaza. It seemed like they had accepted that Patriot Prayer would eagerly slurp up the blood of the working class as much as they slurp the boots of Portland Police (when convenient of course!), then beg for more; and humour was a coping mechanism for the distress.
By the time everyone had masked and geared up, the crowd of “counter-protestors” had already swollen to comically large proportions compared to that paltry turnout of Patriot Prayer. Paltry, considering Joey and Co’s online posturing and desperate fundraising to compensate out of state agitators who had to be bribed to attend Joey’s little party. My partner and I split ways for the day. Then came what is now the most excruciatingly boring and commonplace part of the Star Spangled Song and Dance of Joey’s little parties:
Waiting
and
waiting
and
waiting
for him to get out of his guarded playpen and get what he came for: all that delicious livestreamable violence to feed his grift game. Thankfully, the crowds amassed on the antifascist side was massive and overflowing in the streets, much to the distaste of the pigs. I flitted around the crowd, squeezing my way past people. It didn’t take long for me to meet a comrade (we’ll call him GD) in front of the World Trade Center. After some chatting, GD left due to the amount of people wanting pictures of his absolutely fucking rad and good sign he made(and there were tons of other fuckign rad signs there).
In long standing tradition, leftists had great fun agitating the chuds across the street and the pigs in their faces. I stood next to a human draped in such inky blackness they could have been mistaken for a void, who collaborated with a well dressed man to burn an American flag in a show of class solidarity.
A woman swathed in equally black cloth stood in front of an officer with her arms outstretched as if she was on a cross.
I lingered around that corner for a bit on the curb with by tele-lens snapping away and occasionally getting bumped off the curb by some of the THOUSANDS of people who were being crammed into a space too physically small for them all to fit in. A normal human being would have observed that “oh, there are too many people here to all fit on the sidewalk. It is reasonable that some people may not be able to stay on it”. But it there was a specific cop who respected no laws except that of his master, not even the laws of physics it seemed.
“get BACK!”
he barked at me the second time my foot touched the street. I scrambled back, rudely being forced to shove my fellow demonstrators. The pig stepped forward and held his line, and again the natural flow of the thousands of people made it physically impossible for me to physically stay on the limited space of the sidewalk, and this time my options to simply leave were further limited by the sheer density of people that was increasing by the moment. He stepped forward again, hand on his baton and barked at me that I needed to stay on the sidewalk or I would be subject to arrest. It felt like slow motion that he slid the baton out as I managed to half stand on the curb, with my feet hanging off, precariously balanced. This still did not quench his thirst for obedience, he glared at me with disgust, I laughed and took his picture and then was again knocked off balance by another surge of antifascist demonstrators entering the crowd.
“I SAID GET BACK ON THE CURB” he yelled, spit speck coating the inside of his helmet.
“Do you understand any laws other than your master’s? Have you heard of the laws of physics?” I barked back “There’s no fucking room for me! Get a real fucking job!”
I snapped a photo of the cop next to him who was also edging further closer to him and I, possibly eager to to help assist in inflicting brutality against someone taking photos
and trying to obey the laws of physics. Adrenaline shot through my body as I saw his meaty claw reaching up for my lens and my legs went on autopilot for the first time that day. I had clearly hit a sore spot and needed to vacate before I became another tally mark on whatever post it note this guy kept at his desk.
Once I was safe and away from the impotent pig I grouped up with some members of the Black Bloc.We geared up and we made our way to Chapman Square, where an even bigger crowd had been gathering. I arrived in the familiar park and the first thing I saw was banners reading “GTFO, YA JABRONIS” carried by a mass of humans clad in black that at times seemed to be an indistinguishable blob, with at minimum 200 helmet-capped protrusions.
Press and photographers and livestreamers (including myself) swarmed around the mass like flies. Kitty corner ,was what looked like the “PopMob” movement, and indeed it was a mob! It was hard not to giggle with glee at the overwhelming show of force by the community against white supremacy; there where moments where my verbal expressions of glee were uncontainable to the confusion of those near me. But I had other things to attend to at the moment than my own excitement at the moment, so I did my best to contain my joy. “We could just end all this madness today! There’s enough of us!” I whispered to myself to the distaste of people closest to me. From unions to children to grandparent, Portland had showed the fuck up.
I have my own tongue in cheek comments regarding the decade people seemed to be operating in, but those are mostly best saved for later. As Joey had made this a “national event” by flying in so-called “patriots” in from around the country , the press overall seemed to respond in a similar maximal manner. It is interesting to cover these events, especially with the wild contrast in use of optics between sides. The far right abuses and addictively uses media, both their own independent outlets and mainstream, to twist a narrative; while the left is more invested in attacking the roots of issues, without making it published until it comes to fruition (ironically, I am reminded of the Bible verse Matthew 6:6) , and even if their efforts do not bear the wanted fruit they carry on trying to make a better world. Unless this contrast in optics is explained to outsider (and it takes a lot of excruciating details) it is baffling.
Quickly; the PopMob, Black Bloc, and the various other groups/individuals began marching to join the already large crowd at the waterfront. Even quicker, Portland Police hastily rushed (and left their vehicles unattended, behind anti-fascist lines, meaning behind enemy lines to them) to guard Patriot Prayer.
After weaving through a block’s worth of people (many in bloc) I met up with another comrade, who we will call SD. Leaning against the biketown bikes (and admittedly, having a great time ringing the bells) we scanned the crowd. Joey had been trying to stir people into a frenzy, saying that he would be sending more attempted infiltrators than usual. There is nobody more hawkeyed and prepared for Joey and his shitbags to play spy than SD, so we teamed up for a bit. It was great fun! The infiltrators were even easy for me to spot, and could not resist turning their heads as soon as their usernames were called out from deep inside the crowd of enemies/anti-fascists. Unfortunately for them, we were more than ready to snap a picture of their swiveling heads; and after our fun had finished they were extremely scarce.
Next to us was Demand Utopia. Now, Demand Utopia is one of the few groups that I’m not inherently spooked by a bit. Individually, they are disciplined as hell and I would even dare say militant; and combined they are a force to be reckoned with and admired. Dressed in giant beach ball looking costumes, decorated to look like sunflowers; they would look comical if I wasn’t aware of the sheer force burning and ready to explode out from behind those green masks, like Chango bursting forth in flames. In hindsight, nobody was more prepared for what was to come than the folks encased in protective beach-balls. Not only were they the most prepared, they brought immense joy to the crowd. Who could frown at the sight of at least a half dozen giant sunflower people? I counted exactly 0 people frowing.
Portland was pouring all of its police resources into a few blocks near the waterfront, PPD announcing they would only respond to emergency calls as their resources were being wasted elsewhere (read: protecting far right violent extremists from consequences). Hopefully, this resulted in less housing-endangered folks from being terrorized by the city-sanctioned terrorist militia that usually makes life even more difficult for them. Pigs lined the edge of the sidewalk and were filing into the middle of the street to form a human wall to defend the armed fascists from the unarmed community members trying to keep people safe.
A young man screamed at them. In fact many people were yelling and heckling the cops but one young man could not contain his anger. It was a beautiful firely explosion of something long packed away. He waved his arms and let the lava flow thrugh him and out of his mouth. Two black men stood in front of me, observing the spectacle
“If that was us we’d be dead” one of them said to the other (as I rudely eavesdropped, of course)
“Yeah, white people get away with some crazy stuff at these things” the other said, seeming to chuckle a bit.
Something clicked for me. Those two men were absolutely right. If it had been anyone else but a fair haired and fair skinned young masculine appearing person jumping around and venting his justifiable frustrations at this made-terrible world at the right targets; they would have at the very best been arrested and at worst they would be laying dying in the street in front of me. Cops who had been aggressive with myself and anyone in bloc or visibly a minority, giggled and made fun of this young man. He was not subject to the intimidating behavior I experienced (he was not on the sidewalk for decent portions of his expressions), nor was he subject to the violence inflicted on others later on in the day. Cops actually were grinning and gently directing him back onto the sidewalk. Piss Boys and Psuedo-Prayer had began to congregate at the corner of their playpen where they could get the best view of the spectacle, so SD and I worked our way back through the crowd, weaving through to where the bloc was holding up their massive banner.
One of the local cop-watchers, Mike Bluehair, was posing in front of the “GTFO Ya Jabronis” banners and in general doing his usual thing of antagonizing cops. Decked out in his usual armor, helmet, and a gas mask he was filming cops, laying down and stretching himself out and extending his middle finger towards the police line in a manner reminiscent of a Renaissance painting. Many of us laughed, and the press began snapping away.
As the clock ticked further towards 2PM, the air became even thicker. I was bored out of my skull. “I knew it, I knew this would be a big nothingburger!” I thought gritting my teeth.
“Joey Jackass goddamn brought out all these fucking people for nothing” I said to the inky humanoid figure next to me. They nodded sagely and navigated the opening of a water bottle under their mask (a local contingent, and another one of my favorites, calling themselves the “Snack Bloc” had been busy ensuring the leftist demonstrators stayed adequately hydrated, in comparison to the “patriot” side who was brutally silenced by the heat and lack of fluids. Snack Bloc ran through at least 5 cases of water nearly immediately). I openly began to giggle again, thinking of all the wasted effort and money spent on a losing senatorial candidate; just to go stand in some fenced off playpen in a park in an allegedly “shithole city”. Gibson’s grift was wearing thin for better or for worse.
Climbing up a landscaping structure for a better vantage point, I joined a small group of other demonstrators on top of some brick detailing that gave me a view of the crowd. It was a literal ocean of people, undulating and moving like liquid. A line of increasingly nervous cops was literally the thin blue line between Gibson and his cult finally drowning. Portland Police began broadcasting their usual order for the freely assembled crowd to disperse, otherwise they’d beat/gas/grenade us. Even disregarding the physical impracticality of their absurd demands (thousands of people cannot physically calmly disperse from such a small area in such a small amount of time) there was no way we would all comply. Some less radical people on the fringes and families who had come to observe the days events began to vacate but a vast majority of the people dug their heels in.
In the minutes after that time seems to slow until it poured into space, like molasses. I was happily snapping away and made the mistake of making eye contact with what I intended to shoot next: a cop holding a gas-powered rifle, loaded with some form of allegedly less than lethal ammunition. Time became even slower as a grin metastasized on it’s increasingly monstrous face and the barrel of the gun moved to aim at me and the group of people standing on this ledge.
CRACK! BANG!
Another officer had fired their gas powered gun, I would later learn that Portland Police officer had launched a grenade directly at the head of a comrade at point blank range and nearly killed them for standing in a street. For the second time that day my legs went on autopilot. I felt my body move off the ledge, and the solidity of the landscaping feature I had been standing on seemed to have magically dissolved by my feet. For a few seconds I perceived myself as weightless, like the gas canister shot towards me flying above my head that seemed to be floating then shrinking. Apparently I had jumped, it wasn’t that far of a fall and a bit of decorative shrubbery cushioned me; and thankfully my brain had already started to fire on the “RUN OR DIE” circuit of consciousness.
Before I become dragged I will admit: I am not a gun person. Not only for the many reasons would it become a legal inconvenience for me to possess my own; they simply do not interest me much, I find the idea of using war clubs and the like much more palatable and simple. While I have shot my share of rifles and handguns, the audible difference between a gun firing something lethal and a gun firing something “less than” lethal is indistinguishable to me, especially when I am firing on such a primal circuit. And I am sure a large majority of that crowd share my inability to distinguish between the types of guns or ammunition being fired when it it coming at you, especially between the sounds of flash bangs.
On top of this, it is a completely reasonable belief that Portland Police would open fire with real bullets on a peaceful demonstration, and at this point it feel like it is only a matter of time before that happens. In that moment I didn’t know what they were firing at us, and in that moment for all I knew if I got home I would be covered in the blood of my comrades at least. The backs of my legs began to burn and sting in ways I had never experienced before. The pain thrust itself into my consciousness and helped snap me back into my body but I could not stop running. A slowly growing distance behind me riot police were charging forward, firing gas canisters, pepper pellets, and rubber bullets into the crowd at random and moving in groups to target individual protestors attempting to flee.
An Indigenous woman was targeted for violence by a mob of the City’s armed thugs when she implored them to stop shooting (And was later charged, you can support her legal fund here); an officer grabbed her sign and broke the handle while another deployed a green-dye gas grenade to disorient her while several more chitinous looking pigs swarmed upon her like flies. Mike Bluehair from before was shot at close range with a rubber bullet on what is most easily summed up as the funny bone of your leg; I later saw images of him laying on the ground after being immobilized by the brutal force deployed by Portland Police. Someone else sustained 3rd degree chemical burns due to more crowd control agents. When I finally arrived home that night I would find my ass and the back of my legs splotched with circular bruises where I had been hit (this was discovered as I tried to sit down on a kitchen chair). Around me bruises were blossoming on people’s skin and there was a chorus of coughing chiming in on the already present rumble of disobedience. In the distance glass shattered.
Patriot Prayer laughed and cheered. They are at this very moment probably sharing some already stale meme making fun of someone’s injury. I think that speaks most to their character than anything else. But nobody gave a shit then; and aside from the necessity of having to force the world to see the grotesque spectacle so that Joey and his cult will finally skitter away like the cockroaches they are, nobody really does. In those moment it seemed to be a collective and needed shift in our priorities. Extremist cults will come and go, Joey is already fading fast; but this state is persisting. Particularly in Portland, where the police have inflicted amounts of brutality that would make the “white aryan resistance” blush; and all under the watchful eyes of Chief Outlaw (no joke, that is her real name). Joey had again shown the leftists in the PNW a common enemy, a reason to not bicker with each other but stand linked arm in arm.
After creating a few hundred feet gap between myself and the advancing, crazed militia defending white supremacists I was able to regain some presence of mind. Slowing my pace I confirmed “ok, cool. At least I’m not bleeding” as the adrenaline filtered out of my body. Turning around but continuing to keep moving, I watched the police line continue on chasing after us, pointing their weapons at us. Pigs knocked over and stepped over and old man, walking by him without so much as a second glance. Activists kicked gas canisters away from the retreating crowds, some of those canisters landing right back where they came from. Police fired more rounds in response to having their property returned to them. I became more unsure if I would make it home that night and began to stream (Portland Police does have a habit of repeatedly “accidentally” deleting the contents of SD cards they seize after all).
The cops kept advancing for a bit until we were pushed back near the justice center a few blocks away. Soon after, a majority of the people who were standing at the waterfront were congregated in Chapman Square. Some people had departed, not all voluntarily; several people had to go to the hospital and a few people were captured by the militia and later temporarily released after a ransom was paid. Someone was jumping around holding Joey’s hat while people cheered them on. Apparently, Joey and his cult had again been limited to walking around the same few blocks of Portland in their army costumes while playing on their phones. Thousands of dollars, and hundreds of their hours wasted on coming to Portland to start riots in the name of some failed senate campaign. Snack bloc distributed the rest of the waterbottles and people began to march back towards the waterfront.
On the way back towards the Patriot Prayer Playpen protected by Portland Police, I noticed a single Multnomah sheriff’s SUV with the back windshield smashed out and a trash can lid lay next to it. It would later come to light that the Portland Police had neglected to leave any of their own to defend their precious little cars when they rushed to guard the armed white supremacy group. In hindsight their own lack of forethought caused them to panic and make any attempt to protect their cars, no matter what the cost to the residents of the city they say they protect and serve.
Undeterred though, we simply looped back around and marched back to the waterfront, led by a mobile DJ in the bed of a Uhaul pick-up truck leading us and providing bardic inspiration. Patriot prayer was still in their guarded playpen, their busses on the way to pick them up and bring them back to the lot where their cars were towed away from. Portland Police had scrambled to guard their fellow fascists again, this time leaving a few of their own behind to protect the vehicles, while the rest served the white supremacists who were waiting for their buses to take them back to where they started their playdate.
It didn’t seem like they expected out return. The “patriot” crowd rapidly began to thin as we re-approached. Their laughter and cheers from before were silenced. In their feeble minds, they thought we could be chased off. With their eyes wide open, they watched us re-amass right back where we were before. Sure, we may have been moved ; but that did not mean we were by any means stopped. Had they not been so foolish and done some research they would have known that many of the groups present had been fighting the same police force for decades. Despite that this specific sort of unnecessarily brutal force directed at peaceful demonstrators by Portland Police hadn’t been used in such a way; that in recent memory, everyone was already prepared to respond and adapt to the tactics (even those who had not physically been present for Portland Police brutality of times past seemed to understand What To Do, as if the information had been transmitted through some form of osmosis).
Merging into the crowd of people again it almost seemed as if the warlike response had only served to engorge the amount of angry residents. Logically, it would stand to reason that some people had gone home. After all, everyone who showed up to oppose the fascist infection in the city had also had some intersection with a group or identity that had historically and currently been ground between the gears of capital. People had work to go to in the morning, or school, or couldn’t afford to risk further legal troubles; regardless, there were many people with very valid reason to go home at this point. We had won: Patriot Prayer had wasted so much time and money and resources, to get nearly nothing of what they came for. Of course, Joey’s hat was stolen after he was allowed yet another exemption to the rules set forth by the supposedly unbiased Portland Police department, and marched right into a block of his opposistion ; and some of his buddies were also subject to consequences for their actions when allowed similar leeways. But overwhelmingly, Piss Prayer and the Proud Boys were crushed by multiple forces. Not only did some of them succumb to the combination of their costumes’ compounding of the already unusually warm day and lack of preparation and foresight for said day; but despite their reliance on police for babysitting services they did NOT get what they came for.
Watching the busses roll away, I allowed myself to relax as much as possible. “We made it. I made it. Look at them scurry away! Look at us, we can’t be stopped!” I whispered to nobody corporeal in particular. My body collapsing onto an Uncomfortable Art Bench that was suddenly made more comfortable than a feather bed by exhaustion. The collective event of the past few weeks, particularly the last few hours settled into my cells in the absence of panic, and I was able to let go in the midst of comrades and solidarity and allow myself to drift off for a bit. Around me, people jeered and mocked the disgraced extremists, and cheered as the busses carrying the carted the malignance out of Portland.
What felt like eons later, my mind started to coalesce back into a singular stream of consciousness. Flashbangs had left my head throbbing as myself, my partner and some of our most beloved comrades stood outside a high end dispensary, indulging in the goods purchased there, a deliciously sweet end to a very spicy day. My heart instantly swelled at their delight from their treasures they had acquired from the shop and we made our way towards food and drinks to put a bow on a tumultuous day.
The results of August 4th are still being felt and decided. In the end, Joey’s relentless “campaigning” in Portland bore no fruit. He lost so drastically, despite his enormous sacrifice and efforts; ending up being relegated to the “other” category when the election was discussed the morning after. Of course, his cohorts are planning more attempts to sow discord and darkness in cities they make up to be an enemy. But that is insignificant compared to what is to come. Joey and his cult’s constant agitation of anyone left of Trump fanatics has only served to create a unified force of humans. And even more so; t has become clear who is and is not an ally to the resident of this area (looking at you Wheeler and Outlaw. ).
The flames are just beginning to burn.
