Here’s an old piece I wrote in March when I went to D.C. solo. I forgot to post it at the time, but better late than never.
3-20-2018
It's refreshing to meet genuinely kind people and The Alibi on 2nd was home to some of the kindest. I seem to have a way of overstaying my welcome, especially at local bars. It's easy to get lost in conversation with strangers- usually with someone I'd normally never cross paths with. On this occasion I met Aston, his dad Martin and their friend, whose name I can't remember, were from England and Ireland respectively.
Initially I had planned to go to a restaurant named Hamilton's (because of my not-so-closeted-obsession with the musical of the same name) and then to a Capital's hockey game. When I got to Hamilton's I didn't see anything on their menu that I wanted so I went to the bar nextdoor. The menu outside said chicken pot pie. I was sold.
I sat at the bar, read part of a a book about the First Amendment, watch the Caps on the T.V., drank a few beers and ate a great chicken pot pie.
I learned that the owner, Aston's father, Martin, had won rights to The Alibi in a lawsuit. The court reports now serve as wallpaper.
We talked about D.C., Spokane, Ireland, school, love, hockey, our hopes, fears and dreams.
A bit before closing I asked which bus I should take to get back to my AirBnB. They refused to let me take the bus since it was getting late and said they'd drive me home instead.
"You're not gonna kidnap me, are you?" I asked as I got into the back seat of their car. They laughed and said no.
I was thinking of all the bad things that could happen- what would my mom say if she knew?
They borrowed one of the bartenders, Vlad's, black Mercedes sedan- there were brightly colored Russian music videos playing on the dash screen when we got in.
"Fuck," Martin said with a chuckle, "Vlady is the best."
Maybe they're in league with Putin I nervously thought. James Comey had testified to the Senate Intelligence Committee ten days prior, so Russian spying was heavy on my mind.
Icy-cold rain washed over the tinted windows. It was beautiful. The white marble buildings, shone, colosseum-like, through the dark, their floodlights blocking out everything around them. Rain sparkled on the windows. Ghost-like the Capitol building appeared on my right. I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, leaving a grease smudge on the otherwise spotless glass. D.C was filled with magic.
Aston dropped his dad off at home, just a few blocks away from the bar and then took me home back to Ms. Janice's townhouse just off of H-Street.
From what he was saying, D.C. has really grown and improved recently. (Stats?)
"Even just five, ten years ago I would've thought twice about dropping you off here," he said. "It was, like, the ghetto."
The H-street neighborhood fell victim to looting and rioting in the wake of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968 and has taken until the past five years or so to really revive. H-street currently plays home to the Apollo building, a mix of apartments, shops and a WholeFoods. Bars, restaurants and shops are all easily accessible by public transportation and the Smithsonian is about 10 minutes away by trolley.
We pulled up to my home-for-the-week. I got out my key, thanked him for his family's kindness and the ride, paused and went inside.
He waited to drive away until I was in the house.