Well it's about 6am and I'm eating a bowl of oatmeal. I hope it holds me over until I get to California. I don't really want to spend $13 on a fish sandwich at the airport. Maybe I oughta have some toast as well. Packing and driving to the airport and checking your baggage and finding your gate is hard. But by far the worst part of traveling is those little chairs that are all attached to one another by the gate. There's that awkward moment when you walk up and you're scouting out a good place to sit for a while and you've got to weasel in between the scary looking dude and the sleeping old lady. I know you sit in close quarters on the plane but that's different. There's not much room in a n airplane. At the airport there's all kind of room. I mean big stretches of open space with nothing in it and no one around. Miles and miles of open space. And there I sit aqueezed between Snake Eye and grandma Ethel. What makes it worse is that my suitcase is a big and red. I mean really red. When I wheel it down teh concourse I can hear people whisper, "Where do you suppose that guy is going with all that bio-medical waste"?
Californeeeya... Here I come. (Hey, I wonder if I'll run into Cohen?"
2 comments:
Cohen? I didn't know he wrote that. And Leonard's such a Manhattan-type guy. Irony. Famous Blue Raincoat...not so famous red suitcase. Hmmm. Can't come up with anything on that.
Cohen? I didn't know he wrote that. And Leonard's such a Manhattan-type guy. Irony. Famous Blue Raincoat...not so famous red suitcase. Hmmm. Can't come up with anything on that.
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