Weltschmerz

I arrived in D.C. during rush hour and suddenly realized that I wanted to live in a smaller place. A community (DC is a very small place when you place it beside New York) where there is familiarity and order and things are manageable. That feeling is palpable. In that grown-up kind of way, sure, but also in the normality of a routine, in a place where you cannot possibly be distracted from creating one.

Connecticut Avenue, off-shot from Dupont Circle, at 6:30 on a Thursday evening is reasonable. People with bikes, yoga mats, groceries, strollers, go unabated down wide sidewalks. Bars filled but not stuffed with happy hour goers, co-workers, bro-gatherings, and dates, people in suits, everyone seemingly in suits, like a Heineken commercial--but in every bar. It's strange how it feels like you could know everybody. It's strange for it not to be so loud, it's strange that they play the news on the televisions by the jukebox. But as a friend and I observed, you notice these things because there are no pretty girls around.