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Climbing around overgrown railroad boards, high on nature and a little bit of sunshine, sporting shorts in sub-40 degree weather, watching a creek babble over pebbles in a perfect folk-song sort of way, waiting for cloud breaks and ensuing crazily strong rays of light, pulling on my sleeves and dancing to unheard music to keep warm, splashing through puddles, falling in love with Oregon all over again. One perfectly un-apocalyptic afternoon near a decaying train station.
My ventures into the awful sweater departments of thrift stores are becoming even more committal as of late, and this one stood out for its vaguely Halloween-y vibe and the surprising warmness of the upper half. There’s also a bizarrely wonderful textural difference between its different colors, which makes it a tactile imbroglio to wear-I couldn’t even believe its graphic intensity when I first saw it. For an illusion of warmth, I paired it with meshy tights despite the fact that extensive outdoor testing has proven such gauzy clothing items to be more or less irrelevant to overall body temperature.
Now I’m off to eat shameless quantities of peanut butter cereal in celebration of the planet’s continued existence. Nothing like a failed doomsday to justify some major breakfast-food based hedonism-we live to party another day.