Walking Swiftly will Suffice

Recording into the late night in suburban Oakland.  We were notified around midnight that the sound was a bit loud.  The sound of my yelling.  Something more harmonic then?  Something more smoky than shred.

In the morning, after not to many hours of sleep, I lugged my suitcase down the stairs.  I’d had a dozen books shipped to me in the US and most of them where now in this bag.  At the bottom of the stairs, mocking my Frankensteinian plodding was a metallic green humming bird, rising and falling like an impossible little drone.

The ride over the Bay Bridge can be a dreadful undertaking.  But at 8:00AM on a Sunday one just revels at how overbuilt everything feels.  The new bridge has a five-lane route over to Treasure Island.  (Was it named as such before the book was published?)  There is nothing to block the view off the side, except the old, half removed hulk of steel that used to span things.

On time.  Plenty of time.  Car returned, bags checked, sitting down with my espresso at Starbucks.  “May I have a receipt?”  “Oh sure."  She starts going through the garbage.  She pulls up one and throws it down.  She does this five more times.  I'm not looking forward to my receipt.  I suggest they print out another and bring it to me over at my table.  I need to return three more times.  It occurs to me that they wish I would just disappear.  Finally I am presented with a clean receipt. 

A call or two made from the lounge.  No flight announcements are broadcast.  Walking down the hallway I hear my name called out.  I decide not to run.  Walking swiftly will suffice.  Too calloused with it all.

No one in the seat beside me.  No more announcements on the United flights from Jeff Smisek either.  That was fast.  But the crew couldn’t have been more polite.  I told one steward “I’ll see you on the next flight” and he said: “no you won’t.  I retire in two weeks.”  Man did he look happy.