On the All-Sense Onslaught of Union Station

I am going to walk you through my after-work walk from the Supreme Court, down First avenue to historic Union Station, where I catch the red line metro to my apartment in Dupont Circle daily.

At around 5:15 every day, I exit the Supreme Court building from the Maryland Avenue side and make my way to First Street. On the way to First street, I have an amazing view of the Capitol shining in the sun, surrounded by the green remnants of what, until recently, were pink and white cherry blossom trees. Taxis of all different colors and sizes drive by along with the regular traffic as I turn right and start the three block trek down to Union Station.

I can see it from right where I start and it is truly a sight to behold; the white marble building shines in the sunlight and the entire walk is adorned with beautiful foliage and flower gardens. Busy people run and try to cross the street before the walking symbol turns to that all-familiar, Blackberry in one hand, Starbucks in the other. Despite the commotion around, Union Station, in all of its historic glory, remains directly ahead.

I am now two blocks away, having walked past the Senate office buildings and am about to walk through a park on my way to the station. Squirrels more tame and used to human life than those in Ithaca (a rarity indeed) stand ready to move 18 inches away, but ultimately ignore me as I do the same to them. I am surrounded by flowers, grass, and cherry blossom trees. I press forward through the park and am now one block away from Union Station.

And then it happens.

A gust of wind from the station itself carries the repulsive stench of freshly laid manure that has sat in the sun all day, the ever-nauseating odor of diesel fumes from the mass of old, inefficient buses spewing black clouds from their exhaust, and the omni-present stink of the homeless that have turned the once beautiful grounds of Union Station into a commune. The flood of terrible, disgusting odors is almost a punch in the stomach. The walking part of my commute had, up until now, been so pleasant that it had raised me up so high, only to have the odious funk cut the wind out from under me and drop me into an abyss of malodorous stink.

As I approach Union Station, I try to focus all my senses onto only vision; the architecture of the building itself is truly remarkable. This strategy fails miserably and the deathly grip produced by cow excrement, exhaust fumes, and body odor entangles and overwhelms me.

In a blind rush, I run to the escalator that leads underground to the subterranean sanctuary that is the subway. The smell of burning brakes - something like a combination of camp fire and burning rubber - is a relief from the onslaught of odors outside.

Did you think this would be a pleasant entry when you first started reading?