I'm not sure why it's easier to write about far off places than the places I called home in the United States. Maybe being home feels mundane. Maybe it's easier to be curious about places that seem foreign.
It's late fall when I miss Columbia Heights the most: cool air, red skies, the shortening days, the lengthening nights. City lights, the roar of buses, the warm smell of coffee emanating from shops. City life.
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