He scowls at me, his brow furrowing, the faint crows' feet around his eyes showing more now.

"I don't like Portland. It's just like the Valley. The same people, the same young kids with the same attitude."

It shouldn't have hurt me, because I know what he's saying, and now that I've seen Portland with fresh eyes, I agree. But there are nuances here a visit of two or three days can't find. Or maybe the nuances are no longer here but in my mind and heart, when Portland had amazed me as a 17 year old, checking out the colleges I would attend.

In the face of the recession, the Pearl District sickened me, people sucking down $4 coffees as a homeless man stands outside of Whole Foods. Clothing stores that use labor in third world countries, but still charge Americans an arm and a leg for the products. A whole district built and gentrified from warehouses and skid rows, beautified by trees and LEED buildings, so now living becomes less affordable. Great. But on the verge of a pool of homelessness, where the homeless line the streets of downtown and Chinatown waiting for a meal or a handout.

It's not Portland's fault, because it happens in LA all the time.

Sometimes a city can give one person an experience it does not afford to another. Cities are fluid, ever changing and maybe we hit the city on a bad few days. Perhaps. But I here what he's saying and I agree. The same desperation, dirt and apathy abound from LA to a small rainy city up north.