Who's on? A young 20-something married couple, a pack of young Spanish kids, a mid-30s black guy with dreds, and me.
The fluorescent lights glare as the announcer's surreal-friendly voice announces, "Next station is SMITHSONIAN!" As if hordes of teeming masses will jump off for the museums, or even for a stroll on the February tundra that is the National Mall.
I'm full of lamb chops and good company. And happy.
Sometimes, and to some people, "happy" is as fleeting as this Metro ride. I count myself as one of the lucky ones who gets to take the train 16 stops.
Good night, Washington.
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