A Visitor from Down Under

There is something about summer in the city.

The heat is on here in DC, and all I seem to want to do is laze about all day and dance all night. All winter it seemed that we were hermits -- we didn't go out but to sit around in each others' apartments and drink copious bottles of vin rouge.

And now, I've morphed into Mimi from Rent; I just "wanna go ou-ut tonight!"

So Saturday night, we piled into a taxi, drove down U Street, which was swarmed with people, passing several stoop gatherings along the way, and into Adams Morgan, which was even more swarmed.

And upon walking into Tom Tom's, a bit of a dive, really, I was approached by a tall, tanned man who said, "Let's 'ave a spin."

I obliged and took his hand, and he twirled me around.

Which was all rather charming.

"I'm Australian," he announced.

"No you're not," I countered, positive he was a goofy DC guy trying out a line.

"Wot, you want to see my passport?"

"Yes."

He pulled it out, and sure enough, "Australia" was embossed on the cover.

So I decided to dance with him. I have a thing for Aussies.

At one point, he stopped dancing, looked a bit startled, and said "Wait. Wait! Where am I?"

"I don't know!" I gasped.

He looked around and nodded.

"'Eaven. I'm in 'eaven."

Normally such a line would irritate me, but something about his delivery just made me laugh.

He and his "best mate" followed us to a hookah bar, but then we lost them in the crowd on our way to get falafel.

Just as well I suppose. Sometimes a random encounter is better left a random encounter.

Particularly when said encounter is an Australian carpenter Greyhound-ing his way across the States and only in town for 2 nights.

G'day.