Fueled with Pabst he ran the Portland city streets. Across the railroad tracks, down to the river, up past New Season's and then back to our home in Sellwood on Marion Street. Teddy was skinny as a post then. Working at a floral farm outside Oregon City, he was a svelt monkey the summer of 2004. His motorcycle, a Yamaha with a freshly painted flat black gas tank, sat in the driveway. We were a P-town punk family just trying to get by. No money, just jars of ice water in the fridge. My wife and I had our room and Teddy slept in the closet of his. The walls let in the cold; in the summer they let in the heat, but we smiled together just the same.
-Austin Wienecke
