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TURNS OUT, finding a blind man dancing in the rain really wasn't that difficult. Of course, the group took a few detours (Hazel and Dawn forced the boys to take them thrifting.)
Dawn decided that she hated old men. Like—punch your face multiple times, kind of hate. Especially the asshole they were supposed to meet.
He smelled really bad too. Smelly guys are gross!
Portland was beautiful, though. And not even that damn old blind man could ruin her love of the misty streets and chilly wind. Her brown leather jacket was zipped up tightly—Percy had forced her to zip it up knowing that she would probably get sick—and her thick, black hair was woven intricately into a french braid thanks to Hazel.
As they made their way down Glisan Street, Dawn noticed Percy's longing gaze at the couples in small, bustling cafés enjoying coffee and pastries. Chatting quietly over book, romance, passions, and everything that came to their mind.
"You know, when this is all over, if I don't strangle the old man, maybe we could go into one of those." She pointed with a small smile.
The lopsided grin that slowly spread across Percy's face was childlike, and almost—almost heart warming. Dawn knew that if Percy wasn't such an annoying, cocky, fish boy maybe she would have a tiny crush on him.
For now, she just thought he was hot.
Before Percy could say anything, a croaky voice echoed from across the street: "HA! TAKE THAT, STUPID CHICKENS!" followed by a revving of a small engine and a lot of squawking.
Dawn raised her eyebrows, and shoved her hands into her leather pockets with a sign.
"I really hope it's not him—"
"It's definitely him." Percy smirked and put a sarcastic arm around Dawn.
She rolled her eyes in response, but didn't make a move to push him off.
The next block over, they found a big open parking lot with tree-lined sidewalks and rows of food trucks facing the streets on all four sides. Dawn made special note of the all you can eat pancakes one.
"You think they have blue—"
"Yes."
Percy punched the air.
Thousands of food trucks lined the streets of all genres. Literally everything you could imagine. It was paradise. But to Dawn's demise, there was more happening in the lot than just cooking. In the center, behind the mountains of food, an old man in a bathrobe was running around with a weed whacker, screaming at a flock of bird-ladies who were trying to steal food off a picnic table.
