There’s 47, 875 songs about New York, New York, but only one about DC *.
Yes, THAT Magnetic Fields, the ones who did a 69 song album.
You left me in the Ear wondering how we’d spent $53 in 2 hours. Sadly, it got worse as Mrs RM demanded I take her to the Blind Tiger.
Yes, there was Firestone Imperial Stout. Yes, there was free cheese and bread. But there was also Mumford & Sons, over which I’ll draw a veil.
Up bright and early to catch the Bolt Bus from the banks of the Hudson to DC.
And a quick Chipotle (Chi-po-lay) at Union Station,
before heading out on the subway to Pentagon City.
The 9/11 memorial at the Pentagon is incredibly affecting.
Now I had no idea at all that DC wasn’t the 51st state (that’s us, as Matt Johnson told us in ’86).
And I certainly didn’t know that five minutes after leaving Union Station we’d be in Virginia. I could probably have swum to Maryland. US state boundaries are weird.
Pentagon City is like a high-rise, upmarket Milton Keynes; neat, tidy and packed with fashion shops. With our arrival we shoved the average age up by a decade.
Even the wholefood store near our apartment had a little craft bar.
At Happy Hour you could have 16oz (ugh) of Citrus IPA for $6, so I did.
With the bonus of seeing the Lionesses ease past Norway at the World Cup.
The next day Mrs RM joined me to share a growler (ugh) for a tenner (top). I think civilised folk call it a pitcher.
Seeing Megan Rapinoe put the French to the sword was even better.
*There is another one by Parliament but that’s life.