The world is tuning in to see the DNC. But, let's face it, there's not going to be any surprise ending, no Usual Suspects-style twist to keep us guessing until the credits roll. Step outside the Pepsi Center and the bloggers' tent, however, and – if you look hard enough- you'll find another story, the ending of which is far from certain. Love them or hate them, the demonstrations organized by Recreate 68 are the DNC's sole x-factor, the only unscripted, spontaneous thing during the four days of the Convention.

I showed up at the Denver's federal courthouse in time for the scheduled start of a prisoners' rights rally organized by R-68. But crowds of assorted anarchists, communists, and political malcontent are not, by their respective natures, punctual entities. This left me, a guy selling burritos out of a cooler, and a whole lot of cops in full riot-gear regalia, standing around staring at each other.

Eventually Peter and Amanda showed up, young radicals straight from Central Casting. They were accompanied by an older couple – a Santa Claus-looking man with a sling on his arm and a gray-haired woman from Code Pink. At first, it looked like R-68's vision of recreating mayhem and turmoil in the streets was going to be a flop. However, just as I was about to retreat back to the office and try to muster up a blog about an event at which nothing happened, something happened.

You heard them from about a block away – the "hey hey's" and "ho ho's," accompanied by drums and whistles. They made their way up Stout Street, banners unfurled, chants filling the air, looking very much like a high school production of Les Misérables. They assembled in a small, shady square in front of the federal building. Communists with Che Guevara shirts and red banners, a woman blowing bubbles, a dozen or so people rockin' it Abu Ghraib-style in orange jumpsuits and black hoods.

The police descended quickly, forming a wall of Kevlar, Plexiglas, and muscle, penning the demonstrators into the square. A few of the officers carried assault rifles that seemed to be retrofitted to fire rubber bullets. A few more carried grenade launchers presumably loaded with tear gas canisters.

The cops were nervous, twitchy. Maybe they were uncomfortable in this role, the cameras of the press capturing their every movement. Or maybe they had been waiting for precisely this moment their entire lives and now it was here. In any case, the protesters mostly ignored them. A few in the crowd shouted useless insults, some pleaded with the police to be merciful as there were mothers with small children in the crowd.

But the police did little besides keep a watchful eye and intimidate the demonstrators into compliance with their presence. At some point, when it became clear no trouble was brewing, a senior officer issued an order for the police to mount up and move on. As they departed for their vans and SUV's, a few demonstrators on the crowd's fringe shouted curses and demanded the police leave. Since the police were doing that anyway, a few of the reporters laughed out loud at the demonstrators' false bravado.

When the police left, so did much of the press. Turns out they weren't here to listen to speeches about freeing Mumia or the plight of the Palestinians. They were here to catch a fight on tape.