There’s the Hill, and then there’s the hill…

Tonight we ring in with Cinco de Mayo. A sort of lesser St. Patrick’s/Mardi Gras where amateurs stumble around with party hats and beads, only they look like…well…Mexican, I guess.

In the wake of immigration and more “comprehensive” immigration laws, tonight is an inadvertent and coincidental nod to an issue I would know little about, were I not just looking down from the hill on to the Hill. It was this moment, in fact, that inspired me to write to the blog—a first in a long while.

I live in the heights of Columbia, just atop 13th Street near William Cardoza High School. The busy nightlife had me driving around for several minutes trying to score parking on a street that leaves me wondering what condition my car will be in come morning. I made my way up 10th or 11th Street on the other side of the high school, climbed up Clifton and came to what I still think is the most breathtaking view of Washington. There, in panorama, unimpeded by politics, museums, grassy malls, or the ideas of a National City representing a democratic nation which thinks of itself as the leader of the free world, there sits a view like no other. With the Capitol and Washington monument seated as mere backdrop, there lies a city I’ve fallen for. Metaphors would fail to describe, let alone evoke the feelings that come over not only seeing, but owning that view. Comparably, it might be something like the little boy whom none of use saw standing behind the picturesque Marilyn Monroe as her skirt lifted from a city grate on which she stood. It was that little boy who glimpsed at the real money shot—-what we all really wanted to see and didn’t know to ask for, much more, that such a request would ever be granted.

See, I told you words would fail.

It’s 11:30 pm and I’ve had a piece of ass like I’ve never had before.

Thank you DC.