There are protesters everywhere. Socialists in Adams Morgan waving their big cardboard signs. Gutter punks riding their bikes through the Florida Ave docks and into Capitol Hill. Suburban license plates on cars plastered with \”11/02/04: the end of an error\” stickers. Between the dirty snow on the ground thanks to yesterday\’s belated cloud dump and the sudden influx of conscientious objectors, the city smells like a giant, unwashed armpit. Oh wait, that\’s just the smell coming off the Anacostia.
The fireworks last night were really nice, though. Better than the ones they shoot off for Independence Day. And almost everyone who lives here has either taken the day off or gone out of town, so if you know the back roads, the town is nearly deserted, like during the holidays. It feels like Christmas, right down to the corn muffins baking in the oven and the really bad and biased broadcasting on television.
The bus shelter around the corner for me now has a big ad for one of the local country stations. It used to have an ad for an \”adult urban\” station. Does it ever snow in Texas?
Three more weeks of this and then I can stop having nightmares about having to save the world among the ruins of the Capitol building. At least, I hope they\’ll end when I leave. I really, really hope.
Off to another doctor, second appointment of the day. Some shit never seems to change. My back\’s all like snap, crackle, pop, and my ribs are all like bronchial, and my coochie\’s all like fire, and… you don\’t want to know the rest.
