Twenty-one March was the second day of spring. In 2026, it fell on a Saturday. I had an errand to run in DuPont Circle, so I thought I’d stop by the Emissary, a café I’d left a scathing review for, but have returned to since and have thought it was okay. I tried to bring my New Year’s friend here, but it was closed on the Eve.

The clientele skews young, as it is smack dab in the middle of the second-trendiest district in D.C., and I enjoy people-watching. I was also looking for a place where I could have breakfast and some time to draw. Now that they’ve backed off on the table service thing that failed me before, it was going to be smooth.

If it wasn’t for the clientele. In the way in, I held the door for a family with a goddamned covered wagon. One was a toddler, and Dad was holding her. The other was running in circles. No one was using the wagon. From what I could see, there’s nothing you couldn’t do with a covered wagon that you can’t do with a double-stroller. Except the latter gives you a place to park your Stanley Cup.

Mom was dedicated solely to getting the wagon down the five stairs. There was a handicap ramp. I know because I was walking down it. I opened the door for Dad, who propped it open for the rest of the family.

I pull out a menu and step aside so I wouldn’t waste anybody’s time. The family marched ahead of me and proceeded to waste everybody’s time. For starters, they had not read the menu. The elderly couple behind them had the courtesy to get out of line to decide what to eat.

While I was waiting, this leathery woman with unconvincing hair color steps behind them, which is not behind me. I call out, “The line’s over here.” She says, “I’ll wait over here, thanks.” I step between her and the family, who seemed to be at a different reading level than I. She backs away.

Message received.

After I finished this fake movie poster …

I stopped by a boutique dispensary I’d visited with my New Year’s friend to ask them their professional opinion about something. She was very knowledgeable and helpful. She was unable to directly help me, but she made a lot of helpful suggestions. She was also wearing a strapless corset and cleavage like the Marianas Trench. That last bit is not important, but it’s not the kind of thing you see every day.

The weather was the Platonic ideal of weather, and I didn’t feel like going home, so I found an Adirondack in the circle that gives DuPont Circle its name. I had intended to work on some more art, but I was distracted by all the people I observed, circumnavigating the fountain, having lunch, chatting, and soaking up the sun like lizards. Everyone seemed so happy. That last bit is not important, but it’s not the kind of thing you see every day.

Behind me was a drum circle chanting, “Impeach! Resist! Replace!”

Directly in front of me, a young woman who looked frumpy in her little summer dress and the bad posture sat down on the fountain. She immediately set about disassembling her twin braids. When she was done, she sat up straight and shook her hair out, and suddenly she was Hollywood glam.

And I still haven’t mentioned the woman carrying a pair of parrots on leashes. That last bit is super-important, and it cannot be stressed enough that it’s not the kind of thing you see every day. I found the chess tables, and I requisitioned one to start some new pieces.

Then someone got hit by a car. I ran over to help, but I also wanted to see what happened. A sporty BMW convertible, the driver on the phone and looking irritated, had hit a homeless man. There was no blood, and he was trying to get up, but the concerned citizens wouldn’t let him. One directed traffic. I was not needed. I don’t know what I would have done anyway.

On my way out, I saw a young woman painting. I chose not to harass her because I don’t want to be a creep, but it felt good to know I wasn’t the only one. After using the solar-powered public toilet, I made my way home,

I’ve made it my mission to stop and appreciate the little things that made me happy as a kid because they’re all still here, like the satisfying crunch you get from stepping on a dead leaf in the autumn, or a clod of snow in the winter. In the spring, there’s the blossoms, including the first ones I’ve seen this year.

I’m not an idiot. I know that our country is doomed, and all the freedoms I cherish could be gone tomorrow, but yesterday … Yesterday was a good day.