Latest WCP Reporting

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No More Cap Hill Ben & Jerry’s

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Wells Might Ride Bike to Inauguration

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Inaugural Bike Valet Stations Approved

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How to Bust a U-lock

Notes on the Inauguration Rehearsal

Inaugural Bike Valet Station RSVPs May Be Sign of…

Not using the Inaugural Bike Valet? You Can Still Park Your Cycle

My favorite cafe shut down, wrote on it for the Washington City Paper.

Esquire

Got a little bit of cred in Esquire’s January issue for being runner-up in an essay contest.

From the Archives

There is no such thing as a blue room.

Out the window the shouts of children hit the rumble of the airplane above like foam dice hitting the kind of windshield that slants in front of 1970something cars. Green and white table cloth looking boxers ride up my rear like they’re in love. I hate these mornings.

Martha calls me, I know that she’s naked under a thin blue spread with holes that look like skin pores. I also know that she had a fifth of vodka last night and it will make her stinky morning breath even less fucking tolerable. She calls to me until she realizes where I am. I hear her searching like a junkie for her “Mickey Mouse Blew Up My House” t-shirt.

She giggles. She’s like that, the kind of person you can tell a dumb knock knock joke to twelve times. After the laughter ebbs I hear her soft, white feet pressing against the floor. She stops to examine something, giggles again, and then continues her approach. My back is to her. She’s the only person I’ll let examine me from this angle.

I can hear something crinkling, not like paper but like tarp,no, anh anh, like a t-shirt. She lays her nipples against my back. Her breasts pumping heat. “I had the most sensual dream about you last night” she tells me, “you were this beautiful dog.”