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Shelly’s Fantasy
Shelly, or Shells, first told me about the fantasy when we were at the university together. Sure, we were young, it was college and the tequila flowed generously that night, but it was what I never forgot. We decided a few weeks ago, that we had to get together for the first time in five years, and have a girl’s adventure. We rode one of the classic trains out of Santa Vista. The Coast Starlight Express, one of the classic rail car trains, left Santa Vista to Portland once a week.
Once in Portlandia, the name given to Portland after its’ renaming in twenty-twenty-two, we could experience the free for all that the state of Oregon had become. Oregon and thirteen other states in the country were now near lawless party zones. Bars never closed, nightclubs were opened, filling the vacant strip malls that went under during the pandemic and there was a never-ending supply of mood-altering substances and hallucinogenic substances available. This was like Mardi Gras, but all year long.
“Max,” Shells yelled over the sound of trains at the station, “Where are we off to first?”
Max was my nickname, short for Maxine. The first place we were off to would be the hotel. I’d found us a place to stay in the district, an area downtown, lined with bars, clubs, and strip joints. There were people wandering the streets with beers in hand and various forms of food. I could smell the…