Good morning. On the, air conditioned, 7:55PM out of the City. I just missed the earlier train. Ah well. It gave me an opportunity to equilibrate my body with the humidity, because for the last few days, I’ve been feeling off. Is it possible my body is trying to catch up with the change in humidity?
Well, enough about me. Paul Ruud is sitting three seats back. America’s answer to Hugh Grant, Paul is wearing a white cap, similar to a golf cap or Irish riding cap. He has on a grey T-shirt and is sporting a healthy five-o-clock shadow. It doesn’t qualify as a full on beard. He seems to have a passing interest in his surroundings, but is otherwise preoccupied with what I presume is his iCrackerBot in his lap, set to vibrate.
General Colin Powell is here. The distinguished statesman is in a striped shirt and slacks, no tie and jacket. He must me on break from his tour of the US busily avoiding the GOP, who are looking for an inside-outsider for 2016. He isn’t taking the bait.
Jessica Simpson is here. The former (or is it current) pop star diva has lost her status in Musicians and, having few other skills, to JP a job as a telemarketer for a major health insurance giant in the City. She is looking tired, though her natural blonde-ginger hair looks a lot better than that glamorized bright blonde doo she had when she was dating Tony Romo.
Also here are Sleeping Beauty, Boris Karlov, a Hutt, two Klingons, and Eliot Spitzer. All are armed.
Haply Tuesday. I’m sleepy. Safe travels.