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VX358 April 9, 2013

The phrase ‘chariot of the damned’ kept suggesting itself to me.  On one plane, tinged eerily blue and with purple running lights in the cabin, were all the people who thought that arriving in time for work in boston after having slept only on their five hour flight from the bay area was worthwhile.  People who had evidently dreadfully important things to do on both coasts.  Computer types.  An emotionally unstable young track runner and her worn out mother.  Students on spring break?  Some vices are their own punishments.

I did, after missing the BART train to the airport, stop by a used bookstore and find a copy of the first Discworld novel at a rather more reasonable price.  It was a bit of a retread of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in fantasyland, and probably not as good as the first story, but funny and enjoyable all the same.

And then, I was awake, and in Boston, and on my way to work, improbably in a bespoke suit and a borrowed pair of sunglasses.  It is interesting to be that guy with the tailored suit and the stylish glasses.  Men seem to react more openly than women, and more diversely.  Programmers seem generally less friendly.  Just once, I ran into some fool wearing an unnecessarily pretentious blazer, and he looked downcast to be beaten at his own game.  Which, lest the same fate await me, I have retired from again.  Reflected-sound-of-underground-spirits indeed.