The Quest of Dupont

I intended to use my free day to explore the capital wasteland, an area currently known as the District of Columbia. A day pass for the metro, a notebook with hastily scribbled attractions, my hat, and I was ready to go.

Dupont circle. According to my research, it held a cornucopia of wonders. Street-side cafes, used bookstores, coffee shops. I planned to ride into this mysterious land astride a metro train into the Dupont Circle station. 

After jumping from train to train, trying to get on the red line, I finally arrive at the proper junction. The voice of a disaffected woman crackles over a PA system likely scavenged from a fast food restaurant that burned down in a freak grease fire. Apparently, something had delayed the trains. It seemed that they only went on one direction now: away from Dupont Circle.

Consulting my trusty map "Tuesday" (for I treated is as my man-servent), I saw that an overland route was possible, if arduous. With a new album playing on my iPod, I headed off in search for the mythical Dupont treasures that where rightfully mine. 

In reality, I had no idea what I was in for. What looked like "a few blocks" on the map turned into at least a two-mile hike in the midday heat. Along the way I took respite in a park. A dive in one of the ubiquitous Starbucks afforded a breath of cool air.

I stumbled into a cafe a time later, whereby the waiter promptly forgot me for twenty minutes. When they recalled my existence, I ordered the cheapest thing on the brunch menue: smoked salmon and eggs Benedict with a lemon hollandaise sause. Well, I had trekked deep into the heart of a city of cutthroats and lobbyists, what else did I expect? I ate my meal and tried to fit in among the wealthy around me. My vest and hat afforded camouflage, even if I could not financially afford the meal.

Apparently, I could have caught a metro to Dupont, they where just delayed a good half hour. Oh well. That would have taken all the fun out of it though.