Saturday Night Fever is a lousy movie. But when Tony Manero (John Travolta) struts down the street to Staying Alive you have all you need. All of it.
I grew up in a city that didn’t walk. It was the Motor City. So we drove. We raced. We saw the world out of a window–sometimes up and sometimes full wind–at thirty five miles per hour. Occasionally we were stopped, at a red light. More often we were faster. Way faster.
But when Tony left the paint store and owned his sidewalk/catwalk we rocked shoulder right and left with him. We joined him in his prowl as he looked back at another’s high and proud swagger. We followed his head. To the right. To the left. All on tempo.
I walked the street tonight. From the prototypical DC power environ. And I looked up.
I saw the end of the day trying to assert itself. But it’s almost June. The day is hanging on as long as it can. There is a bit of dark blue in the sky, at the edge, but the day ain’t done yet.
It peeks itself from behind the trees on 16th Street and peaks from behind a tall building–for Washington standards. It plays gray and gold and navy. It’s not going easy.
And I’m flouncing on the sidewalk to an internal beat. Staying alive to the drop of the subway where the day disappears.