During the nighttime in Washington, people ask, "Really now...really?"
Big thoughts stand on very small heels, or rest comfortably in leather loafers. Why isn't AID investing more in South Sudan? When are the Dems going to get it together? When is that deal going to come through? When is he going to commit? When is your next spinning class? What did your boss say? How is kundalini, anyway? How do you like your new apartment? How do you like your new Droid?
What are you planting in your garden these days?
What is it that you do, exactly?
And, I'm sorry, where did we first meet, exactly?
Nighttime in Washington is women adjusting their skinny jeans while their date asks for one more mojito. Calamari is the local currency, while the lone violinist on the corner of 22nd and Q whines a sorrowful tune to nobody.