As a mail carrier in Portland, my Dad's route was the Western Prom area. Whenever I ran into him up there, it seemed to me that he knew every doctor and every old lady he'd pass on the street. Like clockwork, it was lunch each day at the MMC cafeteria, with Friday's fish chowder 'to die for'. These days, each time I venture up here, the maze-like system of side streets and brick houses seem even more beautiful, and I stumble upon buildings I've never seen before. Here's a rambling apartment building on Clifford Street with a most elaborate vine work covering it. Interesting!