On a cobblestone street in the Old Port of Portland, Maine, a man with a seagull feather sticking straight up out of the back of his cap sits down on the curb and opens a garbage bag and whistles. In a moment, bustling tourists and passers by stop as hundreds of seagulls flock all around him, their flapping white wings blowing a wind onto the street. He waits for them to be silent, orders them actually, will not open the bag of food until they are. Then slowly opens the bag and passes half eaten subs and pizza slices to the birds as they come to him. He refuses to feed them if they grab, so they don't, but once they get it, then no holds barred.