David Emami was very excited for the soft jazz festival that was coming to Waterfront Park in Portland, Oregon. He had waited all year for it, and at last it had come. He put on his Kenny G. shirt and was ready to party like it was 6:15 on a Tuesday evening.
David arrived at the festival and eagerly went through security. The concert-goers were mellow, quiet people and David felt right at home. This wasn’t the kind of festival that attracted belligerent, loud people that can often be found at other events; this was a place to relax, sip a glass of wine (or diet orange soda, which was David’s favorite), and listen to some of the best music ever performed by the hands of mortal men.
David unrolled a colorful quilt his mother had made when he was young. He opened his can of diet orange soda, and the concert began with soft, soothing sounds that made him feel at ease. He was happy, relaxed, and absolutely loving the warm, breezy summer evening. It was practically perfect.
Suddenly, a group of drunken men and women crowded around David and began talking loudly. “Yeah, I know, right? This place sucks!” They tossed bottles onto the stage and screamed, “Boo! You sound like crap!” David was deeply offended and looked around for security guards, but none were coming.
“You’re ruining a beautiful evening, you know that?” yelled David.
They turned around. One man sat down on his quilt and smiled. “Nice quilt you got here,” he said while laughing. The rest of the group joined in mockingly.
“Nice man bun, you millennial trash!”
“I’m sorry, are we interrupting your evening listening to this elevator music?”
“This is fine art! It’s clearly not something you would understand!” The man started looking ill, then promptly threw up on David’s quilt. The group laughed and the guy said, “Sorry, bruh.” He got up and they walked away.
“My quilt! It’s ruined!” David shook his fist and screamed, “You lousy kids!”
Suddenly, a security guard approached David and said, “I’ve received some noise complaints from over here.” He looked at the pool of vomit and added, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
David protested, but it was no use. He rolled up his disgusting quilt and walked out. He was determined to never listen to soft jazz again.
David Emami is Alone in Portland is a collection of stories that peer into the life of a middle-aged curmudgeon with a fondness for cats and antiques.
Playfully illustrated with Bitmoji characters, his story comes to life as each day brings a new adventure.
He was obsessive compulsive and mad about antiques. The apartment was covered, top to bottom, in decor that would be more aligned with that of an old woman that peaked in the 1960s. david-emami-takes-on-portland.html
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