Didn’t sleep well last night.
Don’t know why I couldn’t. I just didn’t.
The guy in front of me looks like he didn’t sleep well last night, either. Football or heavyweight wrestler size. Young. Tattoos on his arm. Greek alphabet.
Bears jersey, which he fills like a third string offensive lineman. He looks like John Stamos on steroids. His leg is bothering him, no doubt due to a strenuous workout at the gym. His left leg, encased in a baggy denim pant leg, is propped up on the bench next to me.
Barbara Walters is here. No tattoos evident. Placid. Smiling. Peaceful. She looks like a Golden Apple recipient.
Joanna is here. I know Joanna from when I was younger. Her husband, Jerry, is no where in sight. Different train? Marriage on the rocks? Jerry is working from home? Who can tell?
Also here are Gene Hackman, Alan Cummings in shorts, Bowe Bergdahl’s twin brother, and a random Caucasian man. All are armed.
Happy (yawn) Friday. Safe travels.