It’s Saturday night, and the weather’s miserable—which means business is fantastic. It’s almost 5 in the morning, and a big part of me’s ready to call it a night, go home to my warm bed and count my money.
But there’s also the greedy part of me. It’s huge, and it’s telling me to grab one last order, something that’ll hopefully take me back toward town.
I figure it serves me right when I end up at one of the sketchier dive motels on Northeast Sandy Boulevard. My mood is sour as I knock on the room’s door, and the disheveled character who answers looks every bit the meth geek.
He and a friend eventually stumble out and throw their huge backpacks in the trunk. The first guy growls at me to take them under the west end of the Marquam Bridge, or as close as they can get for the 22 bucks he hands me.
I take the cheap route, and ask why they’re headed under the freeway at 5 am when it’s pouring rain. The answer comes back that they’re on a high-stakes scavenger hunt with a $10,000 prize. They regale me with tales of high-speed chases, cryptic clues and immovable, thousand-pound objectives. I tell them about the old bus depot they’re probably headed to, and about going to a guerrilla noise show there.
I wave off the difference when the meter ends up at $28.30. Meth fantasy or not, I appreciate story.