My favorite thing about living in Washington, DC is that you cannot walk down the street, open your windows, or exist in any public place without a never-ending stench of second-hand pot smoke. It is everywhere. Stepped off the metro at Eastern Market and the escalator was drenched in it. Outside, I could not escape the smell until I got in a car. When I got home, my street—in a pretty residential are—reeked of it. It's "heavier" than cigarette smoke and just doesn't go away.