In the shadow of the capital building in Olympia Washington, across the small lake that weekend athletes walk and jog around, there lies a bridge. This bridge connects western Olympia neighborhoods with downtown. And under that bridge, there is a neighborhood. A neighborhood with houses of canvas, condos of tarp, apartments of cardboard. In this neighborhood you will find 18-25 residents chatting with each other, huddling around an oil drum with flames shooting upward, and passing around as much cheer, laughter and conversation as can be mustered. And it isn’t much. In this neighborhood, you’ll find the leader of the pack, the captain of the squad, the godfather of the streets.
His name… is Opie.