Welcome to the District of Columbia
“What is the city but the people?” ~William Shakespeare
Sometime yesterday afternoon I was sent a forward from the always useful and capable Metropolitan Police Department. They of infamous double parking and being generally unhelpful roughly 89.9% of the time. Except for those times when they choose to holler at me and/or stare and I choose to return their ‘niceness’ with my patented scowl/eyebrow raise combination and maybe the finger.
Yesterday’s email described attacks taking place in the Capitol Hill/Eastern Market areas, where a presumably homeless person in a red jacket has been going around stabbing people in the neck and back then running off. Before victims realize what has actually happened they experience a “burning sensation” in their back and then come to the astute realization that some psycho motherfucker has just stabbed them in the back. Which, you know…is almost as awesome as that time that we had snipers.
In the evening I decided to walk from where I was in south east to north east – across capitol hill – to a friend’s home. I had forgotten about crazy knife wielding man, though was thankful upon remembering that I was wearing my super cross country adidas and it’s easier to escape a knife than a rifle. But of course, every step I heard behind me on my mile long walk, gave me severe heart palpitations, but hopefully I’d be able to out run the motherfucker or have the where with all to step on the opposite side of the street upon seeing a red jacket clad man, dancing in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue and picking through the garbage. Just a thought.
Though it’s , it’s still rather light outside. As I approach north east’s
The man finishes and sees me. Not that I’m still staring at him pissing in the park but because I start to walk a little faster as I can see him coming towards me out of my peripherals. And what does that motherfucker do? He starts yelling at me: “HEY HONEY! HEY GIRL! WHY YOU WALKING SO FAST?!? SHAKING THAT ASS!” For the record, I was sweaty and had shoved my fat ass into lycra.
At which point I died or at least contemplated moving to
Now tell me you don’t want to live here; with the brilliant hummer drivers, the Beltway, members of Congress and park pissers. Oh yes, and the Cherry Blossoms.
Labels: The District of Columbia