Sometimes when you’re hiking alone in the Sierras, you’re carrying a lot. Every night you set down the same pack, and you hear the clink of mason jars of peaches, the squish of your sleeping bag, the crunch of yesterday’s trash you had to pack back out because there was no garbage can near you.
I’ve been in D.C. for 13 months now and by now I thought I’d be cynical. Like the unfortunate seasonal turn to snow and slush that I can smell coming, I expected to stop feeling hopeful for a new world through constant exposure to the process of doing the work of politics.
That hasn’t happened. [...]
This piece and most of what I’m posting this month, I drafted as part of a writing exchange. I started writing it based on a prompt, so there’s no particular reason I was thinking about graffiti today.
I spent years riding Caltrain. I rode it when I was 11 up to [...]