Dupont Underground

A mini-delight, or delightette, to glance towards the top of the page in this notebook and to mistake the 37 of the previous entry, written in haste, for a 32 (a mistake that the digital world unfortunately voids). It’s hard to push back through accumulated memories both extant and extinct between age 32 and 37 (and are those words actually related?!), so better to conjure the temporal jump, perhaps with a confident (real or feigned) snap of the fingers, and certainly with less motion sickness, through a simple, non-committal dash of the pen. I am 37. *flick* behold, now I am 32, woohoo!

I’m sitting in Dupont Underground, waiting for Amanda’s Forward Music Projectconcert to start, and this place is crypt-like. At least, this is the type of environment I imagine crypt-like is intended to describe — palpably damp, palpably cold, and, when considered, palpably probably or probably palpably haunted.

Seemingly unrelated note — the audience is almost uniformly white. Given how incredibly aware and intersectional and inclusive this project is, one hope that those in attendance, who have traveled underground into this crypt-like space in a town filled with, in a city filled with, in a capital filled with, in a nation filled with the spirits of a violently violated, enslaved people, are aware and intersectional and inclusive too.