Pomp & Circumstance in Washington Town

On Inauguration's Eve, it fell to me to drive a decorated war hero and a pregnant lady across town to meet Dick Cheney. I was selected for this mission because, as is so often the case, I wasn't doing much of anything at the time. Without warning, a call from my landlords broke the silence. Actually, I shouldn't say it was completely without warning, since I can hear them walk to the phone and dial through the ceiling.

Tour buses rumbled down Massachusetts Ave and limosines cruised the streets like implacable sharks; I supposed these to be the people whose votes put Bush back into office and the people who are actually benefitting from it, respectively.

As I cut across the Mall erupted all around me: from the Ellipse, the Jefferson memorial and the Monument monument, reflecting reds and blues off the low clouds. Yeah, there were tacky fireworks displays that exploded into the letter "W", but inauguration is bigger than one petty little man. And it forces me to admit, cynical sort that I am, that there's something pretty cool about the orderly transfer of democratic power, no matter how many times I'm screwed by it.