Silent flow of the city
I tend to work a later shift, starting around 11 usually, despite my best half-assed efforts. I end up coming home later, usually hitting the gym after work, so I'm heading home between 9 and 10 p.m. usually. And I usually head down 18th Street both ways.
I'm always intrigued by the contrast between day and the night on the block. Dayside, it's normally bustling, as you'd expect for the Dupont-Midtown-Foggy Bottom uhrea.
But at night, most of the week, it's pretty quiet. There'll be a handful of people heading to or from the Metro, there'll be a person or two sleeping or waiting at the bus shelter. There's usually someone milling about the garage entrance with the retractable barrier and the black SUVs that enter and leave occasionally.
But that's it, till about Thursday. Sometimes Wednesday night, but always by Thursday. There's college nights at the clubs around there, conferences are starting or ending, so there's no hurry to get home not hungover.
It's almost eerie, but it's mostly...nice. Kind of refreshing. Reflective.
My favorite times are when this one busker is out, the guy that plays sax at the corner of M and 18th. He plays three songs, none of them terribly well (A Few of My Favorite Things, Jingle Bells and one that I can't remember), but he riffs off them sometimes. It sounds perfect, wafting over the nearly barren streets.
Except when he drops in the occasional Sanford and Son theme. Then it's just funny.
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