Minding nobody's business but my absolute own I arrived at Middling City JetPort to discover that my plane was to be one hour late not only due to terroristic possibilities in the Shiny Apple (the runways were closed last evening, the nice pilot told us), but to a missing hunk of rubber on one of the plane's wheels.
So time for not a snooze but a small joe.
And then I nearly missed said flight when, paying attention to pilot and his timely announcement that changing a plane's tire takes a good 30 or so minutes (fun fact!), I gave myself half an hour to do above. When I rounded the corner 25 or so minutes later all my planemates had vanished and Steve (the JetBlue guy who knows me from my 2x/week stint at his counter) said he was on the verge of worrying wholeheartedly about my whereabouts and paging me. I was nearly one of those MIA travelers. The ones that have their names boomed through the echoing spaces of the airport and you ponder Who in HELL are THEY that they get a special ComeOnDown and where in HELL are they, anyhow. And now I know. It's due to following instructions/orders/directives. And this drove home the fact that the flying world is an amorphous blob of a world.
Arriving in the SA acquired the day's Post to learn that a tiger had escaped a circus and did his own share of terrorizing, causing some unfortunate and extreme injuries to a femme cop in Brooklyn.
I had just regaled Kennedy's dogs with a short tale about alligators escaping in the city and how tigers are usually left alone in apartments and feed upon raw chicken meat that is tossed through apartment doors opened a mere crack.
Terrorizing humans teaching the animals how to do same.
Terrorized Love.