Booze N the Hood
The District has a drug problem, all right: It's called alcohol. So why does anyone think we need more legal drugs?
Cover Story
The light has already changed when a man in a beat-up Raiders cap lurches off the curb into Logan Circle. DON'T WALK, the crossing signal warns, and he isn't. Staggering and weaving, two steps sideways for every step forward, he makes his way into the path of the oncoming cars, singing a tune known only to himself as the stream of traffic divides around him.
By the time he reaches the curb, the circle has regained its midday quiet, the deep heat of late July stifling all motion or sound. But the man keeps singing, his voice growing loud and impassioned until he bellies up to an imaginary bar--a blue plastic trash can--and bangs down his large bottle of malt liquor. A small geyser of foam spurts out the top. But no bartender appears. Impatiently, he slams down the bottle again, then reels back and winds up sprawled against a quaint wrought-iron fence.
Finally he passes out at a bus stop, where he knows the police won't nab him for loitering--or, God forbid, haul his ass to detox. A couple with a young child walks by, stepping over the man's splayed legs. He lolls his head around, mumbling. In the circle, men and women sit on benches around the statue of Gen. Logan, drinking from bottles and cans in brown paper bags.... Continued
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