Ghost Land

The streets are deserted, the high-occupancy vehicle restrictions lifted, and I am abroad in a Ghost Land. The buildings are still here, the air system hums as it always does. But gone are the suits on the eleventh floor, the officers in camouflague gear, and most of all, the bustle of a busy work 'hood.

We are suspended in our glass house while wind whips the yellowing trees and stirs the Potomac into ripples and eddies. We are here where the coffee machine punctuates the silence and voices I've grown to recognize call from distant corners.

When you work in a company town, you accept the company rhythms. But today, I'm cutting against the grain. It's Monday, it's Columbus Day, I'm in the office.