Last Thursday

Happened upon Last Thursday on Alberta Street in Portland tonight. Was in the area to check out Bitch Magazine’s new feminist library. (Now I’m a card-carrying, uh oh…)

Since I was there, and the scene was underway, had to check out Last Thursday —  especially since upper 90s temps canceled the outdoor concert that I wanted to take in. Note to self: Slide digital camera into purse (have card reader again). But since I didn’t, here’s the snapshot, in list form:

  • American Indian drummers, set in a circle around a single drum, each thumping and chanting in rhythm
  • A girl in blueberry shorts, towering over the crowd on wooden stilts
  • The scent of organics, some fragrances more herbal than others, wafting through the air
  • A street-corner poet, with a vintage strike-key perched like a laptop, ready to pen a poem for a buck
  • A crowd circled around the choreography of sparring street dancers
  • A little girl selling her crayon artwork alongside the grown-up wares
  • “Fart” and anarchy symbols scrunched onto a stop sign
  • The shimmer of glass mosaics at the entrance to an art gallery
  • The gap-toothed smile of a man giving chair massages on the sidewalk
  • The soulful voice of a cross-legged guitarist who strums even when no one is listening



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