Eastern Market on a weekend morning is one of the most vibrant points of interest in Washington, DC, and in the spring, it’s an orchestra of sights, activity, and sound. People are everywhere: emerging from the adjacent boutiques and shops, striking up impromptu conversations in the walkway, and shopping the fresh produce and handmade art on the vendors’ tables that parallel the historic brick market building. Two or three blocks is a tight space for all of that kinetic energy, and there’s occasionally a rude market-goer who thrusts their baby stroller ahead to steamroll anyone in front of it or puts the entire flow of pedestrian traffic on pause by stopping dead in its center to browse. More and more, though, there’s an issue at the intersection of pets and privilege.
On one of those glorious Saturdays, I walked along North Carolina Avenue on the back…
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