Portland's Perilous Pursuit of Perfect Coffee

the air smells of rain on pavement, a mix of stale brews and forgotten plans. i just checked and it's... well, maybe not perfect. neighbors are distant, their conversations buried under their own dread. i kept hearing whispers about popups and potholes near the bus stop. here i tried to find peace but kept circling back to the same spot, where the fog clings like old regret. some say the rain tastes bitter here, others swear it hides whispers. yesterday i almost made a choice, then stopped. suddenly i realized i was running from somewhere i’d been avoiding. the map here doesn’t lie, but neither do its answers. i’m stuck between two worlds: one where everything is right and one where everything’s just another stage of chaos. might need a break, maybe. somewhere quiet enough to truly hear silence. even if it’s just me again.