G St.

I think we were walking north on 18th St.

We'd walked all the way from the ceremony grounds at The Capitol and cut through the grass halfway between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. We passed swarming jumbotrons. We jumped a barrier. We high-fived a giant raccoon. We did not buy a totally awesome but totally outrageously priced peace sign Obama button from an Asian hippie with dreadlocks. We walked uphill against a trotting sea of latecomers.

And we kept our eyes out for the perfect street to take us back east to Union Station.

Giuliana: G might be our street.
Jake: G for Giuliana.
Giuliana: G for Good.
Jake: G for Gangsta.
Giuliana: G for God.

Neither of us have any idea what we were talking about. But we laughed. And took H instead.