$.02
So each day, I struggle to focus on one solid thought for this blog.
Why? Because so many different thoughts occur to me during my hourly jog, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.
So yesterday, I saw something that I thought was pretty random, and so decided I’d focus on the structural elements and the challenges residents face from them instead of this random incident.
But then, today, I noticed yet another seemingly random incident that tied nicely into what I saw only the day before. So now I really have no choice but to run with it.
Yesterday, I was on the last quarter of my run, just about to exit Truxton Circle and re-enter what is more the urban office oasis that is south of Massachusetts Avenue on Capitol Hill, when I saw this lovely bohemian girl sitting on the sidewalk very near the traffic passing through on Mass Avenue. As I got to and passed her sitting Indian style on the brick pavement, I realized she was looking intently into a small, hinged plastic box. I couldn’t figure out what was so interesting until I got right on her.
She was seeding pot.
Yes, you read that right…seeding pot on the sidewalk of one of the busiest streets in the neighborhood. Frankly, I passed her so quickly I couldn’t really tell if she was high or not, but I figured it really wasn’t that important.
Now, I’m no prude, but I was a little taken aback that she would do this out in the open without a care in the world. But then again, maybe I’m a product of my upbringing. Everyone I ever knew who did this type of thing did it appropriately in the back of a house trailer with the shades drawn. They’d never be so bold as to do it in plain sight, let alone on a street packed with commuters.
I had to smile at her disregard for her own preservation. Talk about ballsy. But I guess, sometimes, you just have a “fuck-it” moment and tell yourself you’ll take your own chances.
Thinking it such an oddity, I figured I’d tuck it away in my brain as a random act I might recall another time in a different context. But then today, I saw something just as bold.
I was, again, on the back half of my run with the Capitol in sight in the distance and maybe ten minutes from being firmly ensconced in my office when I saw two high-school-aged boys walking in front of me. The first sported these amazing braids and skin the color of charcoal; the other was non-descript except for the fact that he wore no shirt and had on a pair of long denim shorts that were at least three sizes too big, hence, they hung precariously from his pelvic bones as if they might hit his ankles with one misstep. They were at the bottom of a hill that I had just topped, so I saw them for some time before actually catching up to them.
The boy with the braids had his hands up to his mouth, but because his back was to me, I couldn’t really tell what he was doing. It first looked as if he were licking a lollipop or a popsicle, but as I approached them, I realized he was actually rolling what I thought was a cigarette. I remember thinking to myself, “Boy, I haven’t seen someone actually roll their own in twenty years.” But just as the thought left me, the air was suddenly full of a familiar, earthy smell. Pot.
Both boys were passing it back and forth, but that wasn’t the thing that struck me as bold so much as it was how they walked. Their steps were strong, bordering on arrogant. It wasn’t enough that they were smoking a joint in public. Their mannerisms showed that they wanted people to know.
They didn’t realize anyone was behind them until I was actually passing them.
Thankfully, the boy with the braids jumped and ducked appropriately before resuming his cocky stance. At least it meant something to me that their boldness was born more from a dare than from just a blatant disregard for authority.
Even in this crazy neighborhood where most societal rules don’t seem to be relevant, the overarching rule of duck and run thankfully still applies.
So each day, I struggle to focus on one solid thought for this blog.
Why? Because so many different thoughts occur to me during my hourly jog, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.
So yesterday, I saw something that I thought was pretty random, and so decided I’d focus on the structural elements and the challenges residents face from them instead of this random incident.
But then, today, I noticed yet another seemingly random incident that tied nicely into what I saw only the day before. So now I really have no choice but to run with it.
Yesterday, I was on the last quarter of my run, just about to exit Truxton Circle and re-enter what is more the urban office oasis that is south of Massachusetts Avenue on Capitol Hill, when I saw this lovely bohemian girl sitting on the sidewalk very near the traffic passing through on Mass Avenue. As I got to and passed her sitting Indian style on the brick pavement, I realized she was looking intently into a small, hinged plastic box. I couldn’t figure out what was so interesting until I got right on her.
She was seeding pot.
Yes, you read that right…seeding pot on the sidewalk of one of the busiest streets in the neighborhood. Frankly, I passed her so quickly I couldn’t really tell if she was high or not, but I figured it really wasn’t that important.Now, I’m no prude, but I was a little taken aback that she would do this out in the open without a care in the world. But then again, maybe I’m a product of my upbringing. Everyone I ever knew who did this type of thing did it appropriately in the back of a house trailer with the shades drawn. They’d never be so bold as to do it in plain sight, let alone on a street packed with commuters.
I had to smile at her disregard for her own preservation. Talk about ballsy. But I guess, sometimes, you just have a “fuck-it” moment and tell yourself you’ll take your own chances.
Thinking it such an oddity, I figured I’d tuck it away in my brain as a random act I might recall another time in a different context. But then today, I saw something just as bold.
I was, again, on the back half of my run with the Capitol in sight in the distance and maybe ten minutes from being firmly ensconced in my office when I saw two high-school-aged boys walking in front of me. The first sported these amazing braids and skin the color of charcoal; the other was non-descript except for the fact that he wore no shirt and had on a pair of long denim shorts that were at least three sizes too big, hence, they hung precariously from his pelvic bones as if they might hit his ankles with one misstep. They were at the bottom of a hill that I had just topped, so I saw them for some time before actually catching up to them.
The boy with the braids had his hands up to his mouth, but because his back was to me, I couldn’t really tell what he was doing. It first looked as if he were licking a lollipop or a popsicle, but as I approached them, I realized he was actually rolling what I thought was a cigarette. I remember thinking to myself, “Boy, I haven’t seen someone actually roll their own in twenty years.” But just as the thought left me, the air was suddenly full of a familiar, earthy smell. Pot.
Both boys were passing it back and forth, but that wasn’t the thing that struck me as bold so much as it was how they walked. Their steps were strong, bordering on arrogant. It wasn’t enough that they were smoking a joint in public. Their mannerisms showed that they wanted people to know.
They didn’t realize anyone was behind them until I was actually passing them.
Thankfully, the boy with the braids jumped and ducked appropriately before resuming his cocky stance. At least it meant something to me that their boldness was born more from a dare than from just a blatant disregard for authority.
Even in this crazy neighborhood where most societal rules don’t seem to be relevant, the overarching rule of duck and run thankfully still applies.
Bryan
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