Portland withering

Thermonuclear weather in Portland. People face down on the grass in the park like piano keys waiting to be played by Thelonious Monk, who himself lay in bed the majority of the last five years of his life watching tv shows like "The Price is Right." At 4 in the afternoon The New Tipping Point is reached when anyone over the age of 18 starts thinking more about death than life. By 7 p.m, only two bottles of micro-brewed beer remain in the fridge at the mini-mart and the guy who hopped off his bike after untangling his beard from the bike chain beats you to them. Q: Why do such young, men have such long beards? A: They want to show the world how long it takes to grow up. That most of them are very short adds to the paradox. If you think the song you hear is Martha and the Vandellas, it's not; it's a mirage, a cover instead by The Grateful Dead. A Hopeful breeze stirs the maple trees, but stops right there at Hope and nothing really Changes. Nobody drinks milk but everybody eats ice cream. Pleasure crafts float The Williamette at dusk, you can hear the hum of the engines from a world-class selection of bridges. Jesus it's hot, Jesus Christ it's hot. The heat bounces along the surface of the water like a baseball thrown by a left-handed relief pitcher who's just walked the bases loaded. Finally the sun sets and the cafe society fills the tables set up outside swank taverns along 28th and Burnside.