For Camden.

I get a haircut that leaves me nearly bald and crying in the plaza outside Auto de Fey. I spy across the street the plop art in front of the Harrison Building, and it starts to drizzle slightly, as if on cue. My new haircut slowly gets wet as a I make my way back to the car thats parked somewhere here on O. By the time I find it my head is a sopping mess. Wiping at my forehead tentatively produces something dark, like the color (that I didn't have put into my hair because I'm still young, Mom never went grey) is leeching out, and running down my face in streaks. I try to get worked up about it but can only muster a heavy sigh. I get into my car with a regular speed and my hands are covered in this diluted black rain water. When I flip down the visor (which I had a mirror installed into before purchasing it) and inspect my forehead there's nothing there. Just bangs that are way too short plastered to my forehead, and my face looking back at me.

I start up the sedan and pulling out of the parking spot and into the weak stream of traffic flowing by I think of Adam who still exists, I assume somewhere in the wasteland that is Maryland. As I make my way down 4th back to K I'm surprised by the lack of traffic on the roads. I thought it was the weekend but not I'm not so sure. Instead of taking a right onto K I continue south to Constitution trying to decide If I'm headed to the office or the Capitol. I end up at the gate to the parking garage underneath the Hill and after a frantic few moments (which lead me to believe that something sinister is going on) they let me through and I park on the south end near the elevators because the garage is nearly empty too.

The florescents that light up the concrete emptiness are bright and the pale concrete is almost hard to look at. The elevator spits me out in the private lobby, and I nod the the security guard who looks at me questioningly. I realize that I'm still quite wet from the rain. I pass him unsympathetically and pass into the public lobby, under the dome, which is comfortingly still abuzz with tourists. There isn't anybody attractive that I can see. I check.

I break into a jog when someone notices me, and calls my name in a loud Boston accent. "Senator, Senator." I'm through the front doors and down halfway down the steps and running across the lawn before he even gets close to me. I'm welcomed by the surprisingly warm rain and the relatively empty vista. The rain is coming in small drops with little force but the surface of the Capitol's reflecting pool is a nearly white trapezoid of psuedomotion.