I rolled up to park behind you as you were getting ready to leave. You were parked in the one shady spot on Division and it's hotter than Satan's asscrack out here, so I inched forward to just take your spot when you left. Of course, that's when you did what Portlanders love to do best: stall. You sat there, engine running in your big ass f-150, rifling through some papers then looking at your phone then checking your mirror then rifling through some papers again. Finally, I backed up and pretended like I was going to park somewhere else, and of course that's when you were ready to leave. Lucky for me, you caught that light so I had a chance to yell at you. Yes that aggressive "REALLY?!" was directed at you. You know why.