Any city at night is pretty, but with Portland, it’s something special. Maybe it’s the arboreal scenery, maybe it’s that fresh northwestern air, or perhaps even the rustic feel to everything, but for whatever reason, Portland’s got a charm I can’t seem to find anywhere else. I’m walking down Grand Ave, scouting out the bars, when I notice a young brunette woman ahead of me. Can’t be older than twenty-four, walking by herself in the middle of the night. Well, walking is a bit of a generous description of her desperate attempt to avoid stumbling in her heels. It’s more like a shaky-half stride complete with wobbly knees and cautious flaring of the arms in case of a sudden fall. There’s nothing between us but space, maybe ten yards. Not another soul in sight. The soft patter of rain masks the ambient sounds of the city. It’s as if we’re the only two people in existence, dimly lit by the faint glowing of street lamps and traffic lights. But she doesn’t know I’m there. I think about her family and friends. I wonder if her father loved her. If her friends are looking for her. If she is attending college. What her future is like. What kind of potential she has. What led her to stumble out of a bar drunk late on a Thursday night with nobody around. It’s apparent she comes from money. I’m no expert on fashion, but I can tell when a woman has sunk some serious money into her appearance. Her hair is freshly straightened and volumized to give off a bright sheen even in this damp, dark night. Her outfit looks to be designer, a sleek black top with midriff exposed and mini combo designed to accentuate the tight contours of her body. From behind, she’s indisputably beautiful. I’m catching up to her. There’s maybe five yards between us. She still hasn’t noticed my presence. I wonder if I should call out to her. Perhaps ask if she needs help. It would probably be less awkward than just slowly passing her by. Doesn’t she know there’s a killer on the loose? It’s been in the news nonstop for the last three weeks now. The sheriff even came out and issued a warning telling people to stay inside after 1 AM. Not going to stop me from hanging around at night, of course. I love the night here, and no warnings are gonna stop me from doing what I love. But you’d think a such a pretty young lady would exhibit better judgment. What a silly girl. Three yards. “Hey!” I call out to her. “Are you all right?” She pivots slowly on her heels. I can tell she’s nervous. Every woman fears a strange man approaching her while she’s alone at night. “No, I’m fine!” she says through slurred speech, her tone sharp and defensive. I smile disarmingly. “Are you sure? You can barely walk.” I’m still getting closer. One yard. Suddenly, a police siren blares as a cop car shoots down the street. The unexpected noise stops me in my tracks, and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. I stop and turn for a moment to look out of pure instinct. Sloppy. By the time I look back, the girl is running. She’s abandoned her heels on the sidewalk. Must be painful to run like that. I can hear the soft scrapes of her bare feet against the wet sidewalk as she clumsily flees. Maybe she was a bit smarter than I gave her credit for. I could catch her if I wanted to, and for a moment I consider it. I admit, in the moment, I got a bit attached to the idea of killing her. I had imagined a funeral full of friends, family, ex-lovers, classmates and teachers held in a beautiful grove, no expense spared. Closed casket, of course. There’s nothing quite like destroying something young and beautiful, right when it’s in the prime of its life, almost as if you’re eating a fruit when it’s reached its peak ripeness and flavor. It’s nothing short of pure sex and art. Good drama for the media too, would have been a real feather in my cap. Young girl, white, attractive, killed in the prime of her life? The papers would eat that shit up. I sigh. What a shame. But there’ll be others. Like I said, Portland has its charm.