Before I start this story, I need to admit that I’ve started smoking again, part time. I’m not a smoker; I’m a tobacco hobbyist.
This evening, I took a cab home from the Metro stop after St. Patrick’s Day celebrations (which I’ll get to in a moment), and, as I have a few nights this past week, I pulled my folding chair outside to enjoy a smoke and a glass of water before going to bed.
As I was sitting there, I noticed that the mulch around the tree right by my front door was wet. “Some bastard peed on my tree!” I thought. And it’s probably best that I noticed: a moment later, I saw some smoke rising from the mulch that hadn’t been pissed on. It looked like someone had tossed their cigarette in there before I got home, so I stepped on it to put it out, but it kept smoking. Even after pouring the rest of my water on it, it was sizzling and smoldering, so I went inside to get more water to make sure it was out.
So there. If I hadn’t been smoking, my tree may well have caught fire. Now, I DID get renter’s insurance not too long ago, but I still don’t want to deal with that. My filthy habit may have saved the day.
At any rate, it was a weird St. Paddy’s Day. I did dinner at the Cap City Brewery, then most of us headed into DuPont to hit Lucky Bar and catch up with my buddy Jeff. Despite the pub decor, it was mostly yuppies and hipsters dancing to hip-hop. I would have preferred a nice pub with actual Irish music, but we had a good time nonetheless.
Every time I hang out in the District, I want to move there more.