June 6th, 2001


Fistful of Lovin'

This morning, it happened. I was walking from the shuttle drop-off point to the train in the herd of recently showered, heavily caffeinated masses. I re-adjust my bag to a better, more comfortable position on my shoulder, and when my hand falls lifelessly back to my side, I feel something between the tips of my fingers and the butt of my palm. It takes but a split second to realize what I had filled my hand with:


As if I had touched a hot stove, I snapped my hand back and turned around to offer my hasty and embarrassed apology. He made some grunting noise and then quickened his gait in order to pass me and fold himself into the pack ahead of us. It didn’t take me long to see the humor in the situation, especially since I can still feel it in my hand if I slow my typing down long enough. It’s going to be a fascinating day.
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