I walk to work. My commute takes me from up on the hill that much of Northwest DC sits on down to the canyon of K Street and the minor ravines of adjacent streets and offices.

On mornings when I have not bothered with earbuds I am sometimes conscious of the clacking sounds of the hard-soled shoes of my fellow white collar walkers.

Some days I liken this cacophony to a herd of cattle: a somewhat disorganized but driven behavior.

Other times I identify the syncopated crunch of jackboots. A regiment of young lobbyists, lawyers and their professional support staff marching in crisp uniforms to battle, beating back free thought in the service of other interests, while preserving a vocabulary to describe what they do as good. Making words less valuable at great expense seems to be the primary result.