Friday, February 6, 2009

Sic Transit

Tucked in a corner of a warehouse in Chicopee, MA -- just 10 miles or so from where I sit -- is a long, narrow cardboard box, barely containing the bristling energy radiated by 17 and a half pounds of finely tuned American alloy and Japanese gearing. The glossy red paint job softly glows within the darkness of the container.

It spent last night at the airport in Toledo. (Kinda feel bad for it.)

I wonder how bad it would be to cancel my clients for the day, floor it over to Chicopee, and "liberate" the box from its own private Guantánamo?

I'd call that extraordinary rendition.


suitcaseofcourage said...

How can you STAND being so close - yet so far away. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it's no less frustrating fer sure!

Beautiful prose in your post BTW!

Velosopher said...

I always leave early on Fridays, but you can bet I left earlier than usual today. I'm sitting no more than 15 feet from the door, so I can hear the knock (no bell).

The wonderful Mrs. V. actually flagged down today as she was driving away to do errands -- that's how tightly strung I am (and have her) today.

Nice to be (almost) 45 and still be as hopped up as an 8-year-old on Christmas morning.