Starlight Parade, Portland

1.
He lit a cigarette, nobody was there to tell him not to. It felt like being served breakfast in bed, at 1 AM.

From his balcony at The Royal Arms he smoked and watched the people party. They drank beer down on the sidewalk, smoked prolifically, talked and laughed in crowded little knots.

2.
In Portland there seems to be something still romantic, if not noble, about smoking.

He thought of Kirk, a guitarist and golfer who taken an ashtray from an old car and somehow affixed it to the cart he carried his golf clubs on. At the end of nine holes of golf it needed to be emptied.

3.
Kirk's a guitarist, a rock & roller. He works at a homeless shelter downtown. We'd hit it off when we met unexpectedly at the golf course in Eastmoreland. He'd shown up on the first tee with a cigarette in his mouth, pulling his driver out of his bag, puffing away.

'Do you mind if I smoke, ' I asked, and he laughed.

4.
His cigarette's kaput, but it's a warm night so he stays outside on the balcony watching people come and go down below. They're all terribly young people.

A couple walk the sidewalk right beneath him, stand on the corner chatting. The girl says, 'fuck you' to the boy and crosses the intersection, alone.

He knows the feelings of both the boy and the girl.

5.
It's getting late. Time to go inside, find something to watch on tv, then read a little bit in the biography of Thelonious Monk.