The backseat of the car was, in most literal terms, a jungle. We had crammed the trunk with our suitcases, camping gear, and supplies for the cabin, but the backseat was where we kept the stuff Maggie thought of as most important, the music and books.

She dug through a dilapidated cardboard box that had originally been made for a beer company somewhere in Humbolt. I mostly could tell this was so because of the giant pot leaf on the box’s faded exterior. Maggie emerged sometime later looking pleased.

“Thought I hadn’t brought this,” she said triumphantly holding up a Bahaus cd with a crack down the middle of the plastic case and putting the cd into the player.

“Now, I know this song will be just absolutely Portland,” she said, sitting back, and switching her cat-eye glasses for a pair of bright red Ray-Bans she had exumed from the glove compartment. As I pulled out, the track The Man With the X-Ray Eyes began to play.

I knew Maggie was right as we drove into the city. The song was Portland.