It stretches through a whole block, with new and secondhand books stocked side by side. The Americana section is a delight. As usual, I'm educating myself about the very things I've picked to ridicule. The second Portland show is much better, although it takes place in a godforsaken cold bunker on the wrong side of the river. I dance inside my pink camo tent and camp it up in my kilt with flings and polkas.
People clap along.
It's odd, I'm getting more and more sulky off stage, keeping an icy distance from the other musicians. This evening it comes in the form of a radio I find in an empty corner of the building, with a long John Waters interview coming out of it. I must see one of his movies. So far I've managed to avoid them completely. The drive to Seattle is spectacular and sunny.