It’s just past midnight on Saturday outside Commercial Station. Two white police officers are ticketing a young black man — one of five in Vancouver — for skateboarding on the wrong side of the pavement.
“But I already got ticketed twice!” he protests.
And so they give him a third.
They turn around after he leaves and watch my friends and me watching them. One of them locks eyes with me and I look away.

This morning I woke to the sound of helicopters overheard, a roar that’s been a mainstay for the week over the city’s less yuppie sections. But now this air security spreads westward, encroaching onto the carefully hedged peaces of Vancouver’s richest neighbourhoods, bringing with it hoards of drunken middle-aged men who clump these streets at night. I start to become cautious about where I go when I go out.

There’s still a week to go to the games. Welcome to Vancouver 2010.