Nightlife theory: No evening that begins with Miller Lite is going to end well.

Most of the evidence for the above statement will not be committed to the internets, but there is a fairly effective piece that I am able to repeat. When I changed trains at L'Enfant a kid followed me on, sat next to me, and whipped out his penis. Naturally, I got up and moved to the other end of the car. He did the same. At Courthouse he followed me off the Metro and tried to follow me back to my apartment. This is the point at which we become happy for cell phones and sober friends with cars living nearby. The guy continued to follow me and tried to talk to me as I turned around and walked to well lighted, populated areas. By the time I managed to get about a block away from him Jacqui pulled up and whisked me away. Thank god, because that was creepy.