Monday, October 15, 2012

life is an [inner city] road

YOGOLO.
Part II.

I went on a run in the morning.
By myself. In D.C. (Don't tell my Mom.)
But I was safe because I had a key and a cellphone.
As soon as I took off, my heartbeat soared and exhilaration instead of blood was pumping through my veins.
Heart beat:
Hello, D.C. I'm back.
I ran past a tall, blond man who was also running. The Aryan, I called him.
And I ran past a Vietnamese woman power-walking in a red jacket.
And I knew I was in the right place.
I turned around and ran past the woman again.
Sometimes I sing when I run. My lungs don't like it, but my heart does.
I haven't stopped singing since I woke up this morning.
I ran past the Soho Tea and Coffee, I ran past the uniform Starbucks, I ran past vFalafel. 
vFalafel must be like plain old Falafel. But more victorious.
or vibrant.
or vicious, maybe
or vivacious.
I ran past the friendly hotel concierge:
good job, good job.
I ran around the circle,
and I passed a man in a track suit going to yoga and a man in a power suit going to work.
I saw the sunrise in the sky.
The sky was medium blue, underscored by bright pink clouds.
It was so bizarre, and a little too much like a Lisa Frank coloring, but it was still beautiful.
I ran past the Colombian embassy.
A mansion with a wrought-iron gate.
Casual.
Heart beat: within each house, behind each gate is a whole world that's hidden from most of us.
I ran past another embassy, whose sign was in a language I didn't know.
It was the Estonian embassy.
I don't know Estonian.
I stopped at the statue of Ghandi. He was walking, like I was running.
As I stopped to stretch my legs, I read what was inscribed:
Generations to come, it may well be, will scarce believe that such a man as this one ever in flesh and blood walked upon this Earth.
I ran to the grassy hill in front of the church.
And I climbed the cherry tree there. It looked like no one had ever climbed it.
Climbing trees is nice everywhere, but it's even better in D.C.
A tree is an instant retreat in a city.
Heart beat: Nada te turbe.
I stretched my leg against a brick wall, and felt the angry muscle that wound it's way up the back of my leg like a viper grow relaxed and appeased.
Moisture was everywhere. In the air. In my hair. On my skin.
Shake off moisture.
Breathe in the morning air.
Begin day in D.C.
My city.
Solo Dios basta.
Keep singing.

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