We know D.C. Get our free newsletter to stay in the know.
Despite the gunshots in the street, despite the eggings and the muggings and the overpriced food, Capitol Hill didn’t suit me. I moved out at the end of July. Since then, I am told, the streets around Eastern Market have turned desolate. Hot winds blow through them; skeletons lie in the sun while the tumbleweeds scatter.
There is a neighbor who will not have me around as audience to his death-metal lyrics. There is a neighbor whose cats will not bring me any more presents of stiff baby mice. There is a roommate who will float his houseboat without me, and a landlady who no longer can hear my guitar on the stoop after dusk. I will miss them. And, dear reader, I will miss you.
But at least I won’t miss the crime. Where I’m going, I’m gonna need a lot more than a nine.