Regardless of where we live and where we stay, where we put our heads down at night and where we feel comfortable being alone, we must constantly be changing that place, or we risk the weight of ourselves pounding down upon our shoulders. The foolishness of an old place becomes the most important thing in the world after too long staring at it directly in the face, and all you can see is that there is no viable subway or bus system; that the rent is too high and the city has decided to stop repairing sidewalks; that the light that comes from a night out is darkened by the difficulty of doing so; that there is no parking anywhere, ever; that the city is built on an industry and loves to talk about it endlessly, whether you’re interested or involved or not; that the weather changes, but merely from 71 to 72 degrees daily. All these ugly warts are only too visible after a decade under the plastic drone of a sun.

Here, anew again, a city in flames, but only weather-wise – the population sweating communally, privately, personally, their ambitions and their bodies, and that is good. Everyone is hot here, and everyone is looking to achieve and be something. But it is something I can get behind for awhile.

DC, I am yours. For now.