Heated.

No lower cases tried here.

Washington, DC – Sweat beads on my arm in shapes that seem to spell out how hot it is, even early in the morning.

It’s not long before I drip with a clatter against the pavement – noises lost to the sounds of the city.

Crossing the road, a man carries a half-eaten banana, a box of cookies and another freshly pressed shirt. He knows the one he’s wearing won’t make it.

A line of men with the same idea follows – this must be a drycleaner’s dream.

The city’s past, meanwhile, is reflected in countless glass structures being erected in the southern sector of the city. An old red-brick church stands forlornly, temporarily displaced into the middle of the street.

It’s hard to imagine it’s the only thing being displaced during this period of rapid gentrification.

I venture down to the East Capitol Street area, one of the district’s oldest and priciest neighbourhoods. Flowering trees form awnings over the sidewalks, but I preferred gawking at the homes in Georgetown.

As I make my way back behind the Capitol Building, though, I’m struck by how much – even with my distaste for the politics – this building, and this area, are awe-inspiring.