We were in town to see a play at the Kennedy Center. Standing on the terrace looking west towards Georgetown, I remembered arriving in September 1963. Georgetown was still a bit rough around the edges. The gentry had long-ago driven out the poor folk and occupied the hilltop, but down by the river you could still find the sailor bars, as well as newer places like the Cellar Door. It was there I first got well and truly drunk. Those were the days my friend. We thought they’d never end, but by the 23rd of November the dream was gone.