The World is just a great big freeway ("All the World's a Car Park / And we are merely Vehicles . . .") - and we are stuck in a traffic jam on it. Bob, David and I are on the Beltway circumnavigating Washington DC and it is bumper to bumper (?fender to fender) and not moving much at all.

We just had our first and only coffee of the day at the most extraordinary place: what appeared to be a former department store had been gutted and inside it's barn-like interior was a series of market stalls like one would find in the dry markets of Vientiane; only here it was extremely quiet with most spaces vacant. The stall holders were universally ethnic; primarily Hispanic, with all English heavily accented and most signs in Spanish. Ethnic Chinese held the gold and jewellery stalls, while Muslims in hijabs controlled the telephone and electronic concessions.

A sign painted on the concrete wall of the exterior had beckoned us in promising "Mozie's Java". At the end of the corridor, just past the African Hair Braiding was the java stop - operated by a chinese woman (of course). Bob had to explain about how we wanted our coffee, and it there was a bitter aftertaste, but, hell, it sure was better than the dishwater reasily available.