We drive through Kalorama, Georgetown, Burleith, and finally Foxhall Village before we spot a live human being sitting on their front stoop. Just after 5 p.m., we find Bob Siciliano, 67, relaxing in a patio chair. His barefeet resting on a small metal table. His dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned down to his waist.

Siciliano says he left his downtown real-estate law firm at 3 p.m. He's been on his patio ever since—working his way through a pile of magazines (Consumer Reports, home building mags,"a bunch of crap"), answering messages on his BlackBerry, and zipping through David Ignatius' latest terrorism-and-nukes thriller.

"I love sitting outside," Siciliano says. "My neighbors will tell you." We'd ask them but they're not out unless they're hiding behind the well-managed shrubs and tree shade in the small park across the street.

"This is my beach," he explains. "Bob's Beach."

Siciliano has lived in Foxhall since he purchased his English-Tudor style home in 1972. Two months ago, he bought a portable patio umbrella for his front porch. The Ignatius book is a relatively new addition. "It's just getting good," he says. He's on page 201. "This really is good. Good beach book."

*photos by Darrow Montgomery. Text by Jason Cherkis.

There's only one thing you can get away with in front of Mayor Adrian Fenty's Crestwood abode. If you are desperate, you can park behind the empty 4th District police cruiser and the scary unmarked Crown Vic. You can then turn on your lap top and start stealing WiFi.

It's tricky. The strength indicator varies depending on how you cradle the machine on your thighs. If you aim your laptop towards Fenty's home, your signal only gets stronger.

Unfortunately, this is about all the access you will be getting.

If you wanted to physically approach the house, you will not get very far. Forget about dropping by unannounced.

We got to the third flagstone on the walkway to the guard house before a D.C. Cop jumped out from behind the tinted glass and ordered us to "step back!"

"We don't let nobody approach," the cop warned.

What about on Halloween, we asked.

"I'm not allowed to give out that information," the cop said.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery. Text by Jason Cherkis.

"It's hell on rocks."

Dominique Davis, 26, is sitting on her building's stoop, taking a break from her too hot apartment with the bed bugs, cracked ceilings, roaches, and the mice she says she just lets run free.

This morning her landlord, Rufus Stancil, sent somebody to cut the grass. It had been a while. He ran out of gas before he could finish the job. There's a large square of grass left making the yard look like it has a bad comb over. 

Davis says she was awoken at 7:30 a.m. by a knock on her door. "I jumped out of my sleep," Davis says. It was a repairman. He had no ID. She says a court-order stipulated that any work on her apartment must be done with the presence of a D.C. inspector. 

Davis goes on to complain that her case includes a restraining order against Stancil. She says that he once drove by and called her a prostitute. Sitting outside is a small victory against the mice and iffy hot water. Soon Davis is joined by another tenant Michelle Williams, 29, and Williams' one-year-old daughter. 

"I miscarried on May 19," Williams says. She thinks it's from the stress of living in the building. "I'm going to try and do a lawsuit. I'm about to be 30. I have two kids. I never miscarried before."

Williams says she didn't realize she miscarried until last week. She points to her baby girl. "I have a beautiful girl to keep me focused," she explains.

The two both pay roughly $760 per month in rent. Now, Davis pays hers to the court. She says she had lived in the building five years ago. She moved back at the end of last year. "It's a nice area," she explains.

*photos by Darrow Montgomery. Text by Jason Cherkis.

Penny Foster, 45, is just getting to her orange. She arrived at the park, located at 11th and Monroe Street NW, a half hour ago for lunch, taking a seat at an old chess table. Nearby, a man washes his blue Buick Skylark, his car stereo locked into soul tunes. Foster has been coming to the park, she says, for 20 years. 

Until three months ago, Penny worked as a cashier at the Giant around the corner. Today was so nice she said she decided to commute in from her home in Lincoln Heights taking the X2 and then the 70 up Georgia Ave. "I stop in to eat my lunch and to say hello to some of my co-friends," she explains. She is surrounded by men. One is wearing a family reunion t-shirt. Another sips from a huge soda. There are a lot of easy jokes.

Foster knew the park when it was just a dirt road. A lot of her park friends she says have passed away. But there are enough friendly faces to keep her coming back. "The trolley car used to come around here," she adds. "The playground here has been remodeled three times."

Today, Foster says, she ate an egg-salad sandwich, apple juice, and a regular salad. While she sat with her orange, she and her friends made a big discovery in the park.

Foster and her friends found that the water fountain had been fixed. It had had a leak. Water was getting through the brick foundation and into the alley. Today, "a Spanish guy came up" and tried the fountain. It worked.

"It's great," Foster says. "The water is good. Good and cold."

Foster decided to give her orange away to one of her friends. 

*photo by Darrow Montgomery. Text by Jason Cherkis.