There is no normal at PiDGiN picket. Anything can happen, and much has, over the past six weeks. Police seem to like this new restaurant. Over the space of two hours on March 16 they kept on coming and going. (See how many you can count.) With the glass all frosted now, you couldn't tell whether the bluesuits were stopping in for the fancy food or not. Besides the cabs that ferried in the fashionable, there was a Range Rover that disgorged one passenger and then disappeared in the direction of Water Street to seek out suitable parking. Two other sparkling machines across the street only paused for a gawk. That can't be very poetic, because gawk doesn't rhyme with pigeon. Not many words do, except for smidgen, and that's what seems to define the portions. How else could you get that special feeling, like you were eating money itself?