Downtown sky slice. March 2013.

Writing prompt: Downtown.

You can walk the entire length of downtown, end-to-end, in less than 10 briskly paced minutes. Start at the library, go north toward the historic post office. There is a concert hall marquee, high-end shoe store, giant stuffed Totoro outside the Japanese anime shop. You will go past the Birkenstock store where you can put your name on the list for eggs from the owner’s home coop. There will be beautiful teenaged girls in lycra and Uggs, raccoon-eyed with goggle burns, tangled hair that must smell like mountain wind and snow powder.

Coupla nice restaurants with trendy cocktails. Sushi. Breweries. Expensive “home goods” boutiques with things like “reclaimed barn wood entry tables” and lamps from Sweden. Two candy shops and a toy store. Sometimes, a busker will show up with drums made from oil cans, or a gypsy selling crystals lined up in rows on a Mexican blanket. There will be women in tight jeans, high leather boots, fur-collared Patagonia parkas, expensive makeup not quite hiding their age. They will browse the racks of designer clothes, self-conscious and primped.

Off the main drag, past the bookstore promising live music on Tuesdays, sharp turn into an alley, look for the chipped, vintage school chairs lined up by the brick wall. Inside is a coffee shop and roastery, hipsters staring sullenly into their Airbooks. The barista will be wearing a snug plaid shirt with snaps and Warby Parkers. The espresso will be perfectly extracted, the latte milk a precise, glossy 150 degrees. The gal from the bakery will show up with the pastry delivery and almost everyone will greet her by name. Her cheeks are rosy like rose hip jam above a nubbly crocheted scarf.

The skies will turn indigo at dusk. The river slides by, silver.

Deschutes at dusk.