Update From O'Bryant Square

It was a good day. Productive. Easy.

It was a good day for a good lunch. Greek Cuisina. Two beers and fried calamari.

White clouds streaked across the cold blue October sky as we walked back up to the park across the street from the office. The air was crisp and the beer sat low in my stomach. We decided to indulge in a small post-lunch cigar.

Sitting on the red brick border, we chatted with the pigeon man, who resembles Nelix from Star Trek Voyager with his gray-blond cornrow dreadlocks. Pigeon man is homeless, but sports a new REI backpack, and and carries a cell phone that resembles mine. The backpack and phone are gifts from his daughter, who worries about and takes care of him. In turn, he cares for and feeds most of the pigeons in the city.

Being Portland, pigeon man could become mayor one day.

So, as we sat and puffed,and pigeon man fed the birds, a giant white police car careened over the curb, across the bricks, and skidded to a Starsky-and-Hutch halt in the midst of the startled and scattering gray birds. In full emergency-like fashion, the short black cop jumped out and began to run around the park for some unseen crisis.

My cigar buddy and I were the only men in the park wearing ties. So, naturally, he approached us first, and asked whether we had called in the complaint. Quite certainly, we hadn't.

Soon, more cruised screeched in around the park. Eventually, Portland's finest figured out that whatever they were looking for wasn't actually at the park. It was across the street from the park, lying down on the sidewalk in front of the Picomart.

Engaging finely-honed swarming skills, they converged upon the unsuspecting (and sleeping) miscreants, all of whom lazily stood at attention to the beckoning of the officers.

We lost ear shot of the state action, but watched with interest as the original short cop began to unroll a rather-lengthy swatch of violet industrial-grade carpet.

After several yards of rug were unrolled, we were able to catch a glimpse of a long shiny black object, which proved to be, quite unexpectedly, a six-foot long Samurai sword. Not exactly what one might expect from a street-kid roust in a city park.

The sword was apparently confiscated from the rather-displeased youth, as was a concealed 8-inch hunting knife. Soon, the scene cleared. The Loiterers were ushered away, the sword and knife were carted away, and we said our goodbyes to the pigeon man.

It's been four months now. The park has yet to disappoint.