The American Spectator

I’m sure my old man loved getting this phone call:

“Hello…”

“Excuse the voice, Sir. I just had a bad experience and I’ve lost about half of it.”

“What happened? Did you get mugged?”

“No. Remember when I said that I’d move out if you got a dog?”

“Yes.”

“Well I meant it. Being attacked by a dog is no fun.”

Again, he asked, “What happened?”

I explained that I was taking my usual footpath from the end of the orange Metro line to my Fairfax townhouse.

When I arrived in Virginia a year and a half ago in September, this was a neighborhood lined with houses. People lived there and drove to and from work in D.C. and the surrounding area, and there was a lot of foot traffic through the neighborhood. It was a popular short route to and from the Metro.

But progress soon bulldozed on. In order to make room for a new apartment complex, the buildings were gradually abandoned, vandalized, and torn down by demolition and preparation crews, who turned the soil under but left most of the trees and many of the bushes standing.

Much of the area has returned to something resembling a chaotic state of nature, though the paved road remains. On the way to or from work, it isn’t uncommon for several deer to be grazing where houses stood less than a year ago.

Both foot and drop-‘em-off car traffic to the Metro has dwindled. A construction company has pushed cars back with concrete partitions in anticipation of building new apartments this spring, and many pedestrians have found the temporary lack of civilization unnerving.

Residents of my townhouse/apartment complex now tend to take the more scenic route, cutting through another well-lit, fairly new crop of apartments near the Metro. I had elected not to do this as a way to save time on my lengthy commute, but this last Friday that decision almost bit me on the ass.

THERE IS ONE HOLDOUT on this otherwise deserted road: a small house with a large fenced-in backyard with a boat and cars and trucks of various vintages.