So, it's another bright, sunny day on the Ave. This is actually "Broadway", a high-traffic road less than a minute's wander from my house. Broadway is always full of people, unless it's both freezing cold AND midnight. Here we see typical broadway fauna. What am I doing here? Why, I'm walking to film stop to get my photos developed. Only problem is: I haven't run out of film yet! so I get with the shutterbugging:

Two blocks from my house, Broadway Ave. has the world's least tasteful drugstore on it. Wow! All it needs is some sex toys in the window, and you could almost confuse it with the adult clothing & novelty shop next door. Once as I waited outside Charlie's (on the other side of the shop), I overheard a little girl asking her father if she could go into "The Pink Zone". He said "sure!", then looked in the window and quickly added, "uhh... I don't think you'll like it, though" before hurrying her away. The Pink Zone is now plastered with signs that say "PiNC", so I think they're trying to change their name to be more futuristicly lewd. These two dudes in front of me are pretty typical Ave-fare. The one on the left is covered in tattoos and has lots of huge piercings. The one on the right is ogling a goth girl wearing shiny boots up to her mid-thigh. We're all waiting to cross the street so we can buy some drugs at that totally exciting pharmacy over there.

Also on broadway, this church heartily supports its gay congregation. They go out of their way to make it known that yes, they believe those other christians are bigoted, oversmug hatemongers who worry too much about the particulars of sex and love. Also in the frame, a green fire hydrant, one of Seattle's many ornamental yet functional refuse containers, a woman wearing what appears to be a purple kimono, and a dude checking out this somewhat toothpasty pickup truck as it slowly fords the intersection. Overhead, communication lines crisscross with those of the Metro bus system, electrical division.

Law and order is kept on broadway by some of the country's most attractive police officers. In the days following the WTO riots, the personal ads and "I Saw U" listings in the local papers were choked with columns and columns of watery-eyed lust, written by protestors who had become enamored of Seattle's finest. "U - in riot armor, wielding CS gas gun. Me - waving NO WTO sign. You left me breathless, dazed. Meet for drinks?" The police women seem to hold to this rule too; Helen and I keep running into these trim blonde copchicks as we navigate the city. These two bike cops are tending to some boombox-listening, watermelon-eyeing transients outside of QFC. The guy right in front of me must have been on bike patrol for most of the summer, judging by his physical fitness. The meaty officer in the background, though, (pensively observing my camera-pointing self) probably just started this outdoorsy stuff. Maybe it's a typical bike unit-team. Fat cop / thin cop. Bike cops have guns and bulky utility belts just like feet and car cops - I wonder how well that works out when they fall. Do they ever have to shoot guns and ride bikes at the same time?

What's on that belt anyhow? Looks like we've got a purse-like thing with a clipboard or ticket book in it, a cylinder which might be mace, but is most likely a little metal flashlight, a pocket with some kind of bondage-looking ring on it which might contain handcuffs, a bigger leather snap pocket, a couple shiny button-looking things, a tall leather snap pocket (extra clip?), a really heavy keychain, and finally a holster containing something which can only be intended for killing people. I think it's a glock, due to the plasticky looking construction and the shape of the bottom of the handle. The cop's pockets are totally packed with stuff, and his wallet is sticking out in an inviting, steal-me sort of way. However, reaching for a cop is a bad idea in most cases, and getting your hands close to that gun will land you face-first on the ground quicker than you can say "what's your sign?".

We should form a Loverboy tribute band. We'll call it "Coverboy". -- Kris, at practice