Voices
John briskly stopped the van in the middle of the road, allowing me to swiftly unbuckle my seatbelt and exit the passenger-side door of the vehicle. I raced out of the van toward the two huddled bodies lying on top of each other in the middle of the black concrete on P Street and screamed, “Is everything alright?”
The first body looked up and made eye contact with me. “Yeah, he’s my roommate,” he responded. “We’re just … uh … wrestling.” The roommate verified the claim.
It’s not every night I witness an impromptu drunken wrestling match in the middle of the streets of Georgetown. Then again, it’s not every night I volunteer in the SafeRides van.
By
Tom Bosco
November 17, 2011