Two days in a row. There's nothing in my head that's aching to make it down to the keyboard. Like yesterday, I'm more inclined to want to be a storm-chaser today than a paper-chaser. Today. Right. That means "in this lifetime."
Oh, maybe you'd be interested in my dream. I had just arrived in a U.S. airport, very, very, very late one night, from an overseas flight from I-don't-know-where. Three people were waiting for me at baggage claim, inside customs. Hundreds of bags came out, but not mine. When I reported it missing, I was asked to describe it but couldn't remember what it looked like. They asked me to draw a picture. I did, but I couldn't get the handles drawn right; they looked like whisps of paper. The attendant got angry with me and asked whether I had checked the other airlines. "No, I said, I flew in on American." Her face twisted into a scowl and she said, "It doesn't matter! It could have come in on any airline!" I wanted to get my bag, but the people who had come to get me insisted on leaving to attend a party that should have been over hours earlier. "They'll keep it open," my greeters insisted. "They want to see your bag!"
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