Word: carly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Hitching up Connecticut Avenue proved next to impossible. One old man stopped his car and asked if I wanted a ride out of town. When I told him I just wanted to get towards the neighborhood of the Washington Cathedral, he shot off down the street...
...praying that a mess of buckshot wouldn't punctuate the aforementioned command, we picked up our junk, turned around, and began retracing our steps back into the city, all the while trying to avoid the occasional car that would try to sideswipe us off the road...
...interim, we had been picked up by a VW jammed full of people, just missed participating in one near car crash, hunted out an all-night theatre only to find it mysteriously closed, and prowled around the grounds of the National Cathedral in search of someplace to sleep...
...streetfighters that we were, we knew that there was only one solution if we were to avoid waking up everyone in the house. Careful not to rustle the sidewalk's leaves, we divided ourselves into three scouting parties and began searching up and down the street for Frank's car. And suddenly thank godthere it was, Frank's white Rambler with its B-school parking sticker on the rear window. Within seconds, we had all crawled inside, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. Only three hours and it would be dawn. Joel played taps on his kazoo...
...scrunched up on the front seat of the car, watching moisture form on the windshield, and feeling cramps develop all over my body, I began to smile with a quiet sense of vindication...