PDX

After a momentous dinner at my favorite restaurant in Portland and a late night in the dead cold city, I awoke a few hours later to get to the airport in time for a flight to NYC. Gauzi, my friend's favorite taxi driver (he has invited her to Jordan to meet his nephew), picked me up at four in the AM and now I sit in the Portland airport. Bobby Fischer died, and maybe it's the before dawn brain, but it seems like a huge blow to the world. A light just went out in Iceland.