Your Wallet Or Your Ass?

Gentrification is the magic pixie dust of Washington. A few sprinkles, and a Starbucks springs to life. A good shake or two, and you wind up with a trendy gastropub, a wine bar, or an upscale pizza joint.

Progress has even been working its way to my little corner of the colony. Our ice cream truck has been upgraded. It used to make a whooping sound, have bars on the windows, and never come to a complete stop. Instead, the kids would trot alongside it to buy their Rocket Pops. But now, it plays actual tinkly music and stops right at the corner.

All this change has me worried. I enjoy skanky, trashy, dirty Washington.

Saturday night, I decided to console myself with a few beers at the Red Derby. My friend Sean and I walked up 14th Street together, and we came face to face with the Washington we remembered. Sure, there were the people smoking pot right there on the sidewalk, groups of bored teenagers, and loads of fast food joints. But, the best moment of all was when a drunk homeless dude lurched in my direction.

I sidestepped him deftly, no harm was done, and we continued up the street. And then I asked the question:

Me: Hey, Sean, was that guy going for my wallet or my ass?

Sean: Your ass, I think.

Me: Good, I’d rather be violated than have to go get a new license from the DC DMV.

Somehow, I just don't think I'd ever adjust to a life in the suburbs.