the very pants i was about to return.

…writing a web log post from the denver international airport (free wifi) because typing on a keyboard allows me to rest my hands on the typing surface thus eliminating any temptation to put my arms and hands on the gross, bacteria enveloped, synthetic blue airport furniture. how could I forget the alcohol wipes. instead of killing the 99.9% of germs on this seat, i’m absorbing them through the my one hundred percent cotton banana republic slim-fitting british khaki safari slacks. i too once had grandiose dreams that i might one day find myself penning out stories of love, deception, greed, lust, and unbridled enthusiasm in the pages of a j. Peterman (http://jpeterman.com/) catalogue…

“…she paused for a moment in thought before elegantly pursing her lips together and daintily running the scarlet colour from right to left. at that precise moment he, across the world, was readjusting the band of his father’s old patek phillipe that had been sadly parted momentarily with his wrist for inspection by the customs agent with the oddly callous demeanour. a quick glance out to the sun-bleached tarmac; dodgson was on time for once. after procuring his well-worn rucksack from the oxidized steel rollers of the antiquated x-ray device, he strolled out the door and towards the shapely man bent over the engine cavity of the olive green cessna 3130. the scent of burnt petrol perfumed the air and when dodgson acknowledged his presence by a slight turn of the head, the expression he wore was unmistakably synonymous with enough time to pour a glass of what little he had left of the bottle of 1958 glen garioch. he pulled the lever to gain entry into the cockpit and sat down with the…yada…yada…yada…the pants he was wearing were superbly comfortable”

It never would have worked out.



…time to board. (saved & posted from home.)