We found the day’s secret password hidden within Instagram.
“It’s written in blood,” we told the barista at Black Cat Frozen Custard on Southwest Second Avenue in downtown Portland. She nodded as if to say, “It certainly is.” Then she handed us a dagger, and instructed us to approach a nearby cabinet and open it. Had we been transported to a John Le Carré or Shirley Jackson novel? No, we were journeying into Conspirators Coffee Lounge, where people seek refuge from sunlight and prying eyes.
We stepped inside the cabinet, gliding the blade into a small chamber. This action rang a small bell and the cabinet door slid open to reveal a different room. We removed the dagger as previously instructed and handed it to a different barista, this time bearded. He offered us a leather-bound menu to peruse by the dim light of an upstairs table. Nearby, two people who may have been twins crouched over a lamp-lit table reading books in the dark.
