“This is the first time I’ve ever lived downtown in a large city before.” I said insecurely, fidgeting with my diet coke. Its glass was perspiring and cool to the touch, a welcome distraction from the conversations going on around me.
By this point I had lived in D.C. for about a month; my romantic notions of this political town were already waning.
(Did I ever mention that I don’t like politics?)
“Seriously?” the man across from me scoffed in disbelief, as if I was alien to him. “Oh that’s right, you came from the south… near Atlanta, right? There’s nothing really there.” He went on to describe lack of intelligence and high obesity rates that plagued the southeastern United States. And racism. And ignorance.