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March 29th, 2007


fragmentI found this bit of observation on my laptop while looking for something else and it make me chuckle. Passing thoughts as I waited for a plane in Denver one day …

So it’s 14 minutes after my flight should have taken off and I’m sitting cross-legged on a metal floorboard, propped up against the glass wall of the moving sidewalk. I feel its soft rolling vibrations through my back as if I’m laying on a washing machine in spin cycle. Above me unbound pieces of accelerated conversation zoom past leaving tiny fragments hanging there in space. In slow motion I unwrap my tuna sandwich from its wrinkled plastic wrapper and I eat as I wait for a delinquint 757 gradually to materialize on the other side of the plate glass window. A woman in khaki pants and lime green Kangaroo trainers races by, trying not to spill her Starbucks as she pushes her stroller down the long blue corridor. She is egged by her final boarding call and her tiny traveler who bestows encouragement in the form of unearthly gurgling sounds. I imagine myself staring up from within its pastel-green-and-pink plastic racecar, flourescent motion-blur sky still novel and mysterious.

Nearby a man who I name Steve in my head is interrogated by his heavyset friend, who I call Jimbo because he is wearing a one-size-too-small t-shirt featuring a screenprinted eagle and large patrioticly-decorated lettering informing the world that America is prepared to “Put A Boot In Your Ass”. Steve is alternately fumbling with a mobile phone and stuffing artifically-colored bright orange things into his mouth and then wiping the oily dust residue on his roomy gray sweatshirt.

“You don’t smoke?”
“No,” says Steve
Jimbo hoists his backpack high up on his shoulders and lets out a chuckle, tilting his head back slightly and revealing the full expanse of his chalky gray trucker beard. “Well shit man. Do you drink?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
“Well shit man. Yer gonna have one boring-ass trip then,” Jimbo says, slightly louder than airport etiquette might prefer and breaking out into hearty laughter that turns into a brief coughing fit. “Shit, man, come on, let’s go to the smoking bar”.

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