Dang if I wasn’t followed by the spy blimp from my apartment to my bus stop. Or rather, the putt-putt-putting blimp was rounding up from Capitol Hill and heading up P Street in the same direction as my bus.
And there it was, over Georgetown when I got out from work. Odd, but perhaps it might lend its identity to the new-but-who-cares baseball team that we’re evidently in dire need of.
Either that or call the team the Washington Black Squirrels (which we have many of).
