McArthur Park, or Westlake Park as it was once known, is near downtown Los Angeles. The center of it is a lake, just the right size to stroll around or rent a boat and drift along with the swans and ducks. With my box and lunch I would walk around the lake, past the men and women feeding pigeons, to a grove of palm trees. Under the trees sat rows of picnic tables with men of all ages, shapes, and colors playing checkers, chess, cards, and dominoes; talking, yelling, laughing, spending their time together in the park. I would find a place to sit, eat my lunch, then whittle a point on a popsicle stick, dip it in ink and start to draw.