Living here in the shadow of our nation’s great Capitol in this fine Federal City, my neighbors and I enjoy the peace and serenity of a tightly enforced “no-fly” zone. By “peace” and “serenity” I mean that we are under near-constant assault by helicopters everywhere whapping just over our rooftops.
Sometimes they are orange, sometimes green, sometimes they are blue with an orange stripe. And, yes, sometimes they are even actual black helicopters flying just overhead. I have even seen them ride over my little house with a guy tricked out in tactical gear hanging out the door holding a machine gun, scanning the neighborhood as if searching for someone to shoot.
This also being a “gun-free zone,” we are mostly disarmed and defenseless. On one particularly busy day earlier this month, I counted 42 flyovers buzzing Capitol Hill rooftops.
They disturb dinner, rattle dishes and windows, shake pictures off the wall, startle children awake from naps and make it impossible to talk on the telephone. They fly in great yawning arcs across the neighborhood before circling back to fly right back overhead. They are not going anywhere. Just circling aimlessly overhead. Because they can.