Now Is The Discontent of Our Winter
The fountains at Meridian Hill Park have dried. The jagged outline of a whiskey bottle looms atop the mudded concrete. Look deeper. There’s also some plasticware in there.
18th & Columbia sleeps. The HipDonalds‘ speakers have been silenced. The music is gone … perhaps forever.
Within the Apple store, an army of red-shirted employees buzzes between the sleek electronics and electronics accessories. They form a 1:1 ratio to consumers. Maybe they can help you find something for your dad. He’s always hard to shop for.
It is Winter.
I could have used that whiskey.
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