I'm in a Georgetown State of Mind

Tonight I've got Georgetown on my mind. Last June, I spent a Friday the 13th there eating philly cheesesteak and wandering the streets as if I were wandering through a Cold Play son. "The Scientist," maybe. I once read that every place has a unique spirit. An energy that can be summed up in one word. What would Georgetown's word be? Poetic? Melancholy? Maybe I am the one who is melencholy. It felt so St. Elmos Fire. I sat on someone stoop and watched Taxi's passing through the rain, and college students huddled in groups on street corners where things come together, but also separate. I felt like an outsider looking in, as usual. An observer of life, rather than a partaker. . . I was an invisible tourist, and my tourguide was the ghost of Christmas past. So to speak. Or maybe the ghost of Friday the 13th past? I was in Washington D.C. because my kids were competing in the National History so I flew out a day early, checked into a lovely stately hotel a few blocks behind the white house and then meandered down the mall, past the Vietnam memoiral wall. I sat on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial and overlooked the Potomac river. I stretched out on the steps of the Lincoln memorial and took in the Washington monument. I wandered up to DuPont Circle, which had a Grenich Village meets Disney Channel vibe. Very 5th Avenue French. I sat outside a little sandwhich shop in the rain and ate a Gyro sandwhich and then walked through a museum and saw some Renior. I learned a few things about myself in that beautiful city. I learned if my gut says turn right, then turn left. I got lost a lot. And I learned that you learn a lot when you get lost.