Live in a place prolonged adequate and we see things come, go, come again, go again . . .
June 13, 2016 - bbq set
The sight was out of use during Judiciary Square. Everybody off, a Metro sight user said. we could wait or we could walk. we motionless to walk, 7 blocks west and 4 blocks north.
It was one of those cold mornings that remind us Washington can be as good a place to travel in as any city in a world. we emerged confronting a Pension Building, that poetic red section behemoth that never looks improved than when it’s framed opposite a deep-blue sky, afterwards done a 180 and walked by a military memorial.
I remember when a commemorative wasn’t there, though afterwards we remember a lot of things. That’s a side outcome of removing older.
I can never keep all of a several building buildings straight: Circuit, Superior, Appeals. . . . we was certain about one building, though: we final visited it in 1987, when we practical for a matrimony license.
Then we walked to E Street. I’ve always favourite a statue of Abraham Lincoln that stands there. Alas, given a final time we saw him, Abe had mislaid a white marble index finger on his right hand. Did someone snap it off? It looks like he’s creation a bold gesture.
I walked behind a Canadian Embassy and a Newseum. we gazed adult during a apartments during a tip of a Newseum and motionless we substantially couldn’t means one. But maybe we could open it adult to visitors — see a publisher in his healthy habitat! — and concede a rent.
I incited right on Seventh Street NW, where we saw something called Protein Bar though smelled something called Hill Country BBQ, a tasty fragrance tickling something primal in me.
I crossed Seventh. A pointer pronounced Blue State Digital. Around a dilemma on D Street, another sign: Red Apron.
Blue. Red. Must everything be political? And afterwards in answer, another sign: a bar called a Partisan.
A lady walked past me carrying a box of Cheerios.
At a dilemma in front of CVS, a male sat subsequent to his backpack. At his feet was a cosmetic soda crater from Nats Park. “Change?” he said.
Across a street, a integrate waited for a light to change: a naval officer dressed in blinding summer whites and a blond lady in a flimsy light-blue dress that billowed in a breeze. She’d stepped out of a Botticelli painting, and we blushed when we upheld her.
On E Street, we was smitten with 6 glossy chrome spigots with bright-red handles that sprouted from a side of a building. we crouched to take a photo.
“That’s a good call,” a lady pronounced helpfully as she walked past. “That’s a good picture.”
“They demeanour like piglets,” we pronounced to her back.
Across a travel was what used to be Penn Camera.
The doors to Weschler’s, during 905 E St. NW, were open, though a auction residence wasn’t. (Viewings Mondays, auctions Tuesdays.) Wafting from inside was a informed smell of aged things, dry and warm, like upholstery in a sun.
I upheld a McDonald’s where that former Marine was assaulted and a museum where that boss was assassinated.
I upheld Lincoln’s Waffle Shop, where we always take unfamiliar visitors. (“This is where Lincoln ate his final waffle,” we utter solemnly.)
It was usually 9:45 a.m., though a drummer named Bernard Aljaleel had already set adult on a path and was pulsation a go-go beat: ticka-ticka TOK a-ticka. we tossed dual bucks in his bucket and snapped a photo.
I upheld E Street Cinema, where we saw “Chimes during Midnight.” (We start out being Prince Hal, don’t we, afterwards 30 years after we demeanour in a counterpart and comprehend we’ve turn Falstaff. we know thee not, aged man.)
I upheld a flag-bedecked Harrington Hotel — a city’s oldest — where a pointer announced “Serving Breakfast.”
So timeless, that sign. So acquire to a inspired traveler. I’d peril that recorded somewhere in Pompeii is a wall daubed with a same thing.
North on 13th Street, past a steakhouse that used to be a seafood restaurant.
Live in a place prolonged adequate and we see things come, go, come again, go again. That used to be d.c. space. That used to be Penn Camera. Recently: That used to be The Washington Post. Soon enough: That used to be a FBI building.
The bells of Epiphany Episcopal told me it was 10 o’clock as we crossed G Street. The bells of New York Avenue Presbyterian were my second source. From a open window of a flitting automobile came a loyal soundtrack of Washington: a waylay of NPR fender music.
The food trucks had staked out their spots along Franklin Square, their generators thrumming. we stopped to demeanour during my new favorite tree: a sycamore on a northeast dilemma of a park, a gray-white bellow well-spoken and striped like a coiffeur pole.
And afterwards we was during work, obliged by a travel I’d been forced to take.
For prior columns, revisit washingtonpost.com/johnkelly.