Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Scientist at the Gate
Chicago.
Airport, gray morning.
Lines at the McDonalds, wrinkly faces and metallic air.
The Guy in the seat to my right at the gate is a scientist.
Wears glasses. Wears a "Little Mermaid" wristwatch.
He is dictating into a tape recorder, softly pulling the pages of a report open and checking the lines against hushed, terse, rewound statements from his machine.
Chicago.
Airport, gray morning.
Lines at the McDonalds, wrinkly faces and metallic air.
The Guy in the seat to my right at the gate is a scientist.
Wears glasses. Wears a "Little Mermaid" wristwatch.
He is dictating into a tape recorder, softly pulling the pages of a report open and checking the lines against hushed, terse, rewound statements from his machine.
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