This is a sub story of my most recent blog describing my various crashes and adventures of my first night in D.C. And the subsequent nights all contained in a mostly confusing narrative, but hey, I’m here to dispense good and bravery to a world gone apathetic and slightly stoopid.
As you may remember from reading, I rode my bike A LOT, I was uncomfortable sleeping in the rare parks I found, alleys didn’t offer solace and the young ladies porch seemed a bit of an over stepping of unspoken bounds, so there I was, riding my bike through the hallowed corridors of power we all know and love as our nations Capitol, Washington D.C.
ill have you know, while I am over joyed that my friend gave me an iPad 4, it does suck, really, you have the market share on technological gizmos and you make them unadaptable, unable to work with anything else’s toys and generally a silly electronic appendage that makes you look like an ass should you ever even bother to use it as a camera. God, I’m bitching again, sorry…. Really, sorry……
So, I rode my bike a lot that night, I’ll go conservative with a slight exaggeration variance and say I was pedaling for a solid 5 hours. At some point my legs were absolutely shot and I had no choice but to hang out at the one place that magically presented itself and just seemed like a good all around idea.
Hostelling International. Very cool place, very cool people and nice benches outside. Now it is these benches, these humble and oft overlooked utilitarian devices that allowed me an insight into a world that is hidden in plain sight, yet talked about from the dawn of time.
I speak of hookers, and not just street walkers, no mi amigo, these ladies were professional to the max. Granted I don’t much know about this world at all, but what I do know is fashion, and I know when I see a super hot girl in the latest fashion speaking to random cars and only accepting cars in the 60k and up range, watching a few cars get waived on, I know whats what.
As to why I know fashion, no clue, one of those things, I of course wish I could have had some savant like prowess in another area, like say, gee, I dunno, numbers, art, anything, whatever, I can spy a fine cut of cloth from a thousand paces=]
It was amazing for me, it made me feel alive watching the ladies working the corner opposite the Hostel. Every so often a solitary lady would come and chat with some of the ladies and then move on or a duo would come by and share some words and then on they went…
It was real, very real, the women didn’t look anything but stoked to be doing what they were doing, and some of the cars that pulled up, well, whoever they were bless their heart that I don’t really care about what governmental types do=]
I guess for me it was just a perfect scene to see with the sun coming up, the city coming alive and there I was, just like Johnny Cash, Sunday Morning Comin’ Down.
marinol – wowThis is a sub story of my most recent blog describing my various crashes and adventures of my first night in D.C. And the subsequent nights all contained in a mostly confusing narative