Iâ€™ve been living in the world famous Capitol Hill for about two and a half years now, a place where all walks of life call home. My former residence near 6th avenue and Washington was a beehive for the crazies. From the drunk fights, hippie drum circles, Michael Jackson dance parties and dumpster divers in the alley to the person I lived under who thought yelling â€œFUCK YOOOOU!â€, while kicking/stomping/banging on the floors with Black Sabbath playing at full volume, was an OK thing to do. I was never at a loss for distraction there. Iâ€™ve since moved on to a location in Capitol Hill with a relatively slower pace of life. I canâ€™t lie, at times I miss the entertainment and stories that the Duchamp provided. My apartment no longer faces an alley, has heat that actually works and the behavior that I used to live under typically associated with a monkey cage at a zoo would probably not be tolerated in my current residence.
On my walk this morning I noticed the gem pictured above which not only restored my faith in the eclectic nature of Capitol Hill but would make the likes of Banksy say â€œwish I thought of that firstâ€. Not visible in the photo is the Sharpie inscribed â€œLIARâ€ on the doors and hood, a nice touch. Let this be a lesson to those with their hands in the cookie jar.