I miss you, too

I've tried to miss no one, Fire on the Mountain, but Brittany resounded a high pitch and I felt the need to remind myself that I am human, and you are a restaurant. I miss what you held, when I was there, it was my friends, or my Dad one time. You had Jerry Garcia on the wall and you housed a country folk band once and I enjoyed them.

Taylor told me about you and I thought you were a mediocre idea, I'm sorry to admit, but you were spectacular, your name was true to your taste. You often left me begging for water and more of your goods.

I miss the atmosphere that surrounded you. It was the good, bike-riding idealist indie, and not the indie that looked like the Kings of Leon but worked at a coffee shop. You left me wanting more of you.

You gave us a better goodbye than the Airport did. I was in the middle of you and I knew exactly what I wanted. I hope you know that we were all sharing a drink. I hope that's okay.

And now, Fire on the Mountain, you are one of the places that is stuck in the back of my mind as a warm representation of Portland, Oregon. I thank you, for that FotM, you are eternally bonded with Tom McCall and The Decemberists and weird donuts and my family and most of my friends and a sense of home that I can tell myself exists everywhere, but truly was invented by you.

Thanks.