I tucked in my shirt, straightened my tie,and caught a cursory glance of myself in the mirror.
Time to hail a taxi and head to The Kennedy Center for the performing arts.
Big city life in an onslaught of twinkling lights and towering buildings of history puts me at ease. I step out of the fanciful lobby and raise my hand for ride.
The cabbies in DC have been my favorite, so friendly and quiet. He drops me off and I see the sign I’ve been dreaming about since the beginning of summer.
The great hall humbles me as I search for my theater. Well dressed women and men of importance flood the entrance.
I find my seat in on a balcony with several other chairs strewn about. I settle in to a front and center view, and then gawk at the setting before me.
I had first heard of Steve Martin when I was just a kid. My best friend had the “Wild and Crazy Guy” on tape and we would play it into the wee night in the back of his Dad’s camper.
I can’t describe the pure magic of the evening, so I won’t even try.
The night ends and I find myself on the edge of the Potomac river, the wind light and the city mood playful.
Back in the hotel bar, a glass of red in hand, and I think back to past few hours, and savor the night.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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