The next time you happen to be in an international airport, sit for a time. People watch. You'll be surprised who you find. The ghetto woman. The post-ghetto woman. The burnt out groupie. The burnt out groupie's burnt out son. The amusingly small indian man. The asian clan. The obese single woman on a business trip. The obese single woman on a vacation. The obese married woman and her obese family (except the husband, who in this case is almost always painfully skinny) (Does she eat all the treats? Or does he have a crippling meth addiction?) Father time. Note: He is the one with the huge beard. The hippie. Note: medium beard. The post-hippie. Note: medium beard/receding hairline. The really hot black girl. Who knows I'm looking at her. She'll get over it.

I know you're curious, America. With your puzzled frown and your third degree. You're thinking, now what is that Max Tyson up to? Note: Preceding statement, while completely mental, is still expressed with an english accent. Why? I don't know, it's your mind.

But the story. I can help. I can tell you my newest tale. We could go there, you and I. I bet you would like that. Oh it's so close. You can almost taste it, you know, with your nose. Here it is: I am the one in the Charlotte, North Carolina airport. C- terminal. Gate 4. I'm waiting to board my flight to Hartford/Springfield/Windsor Locks (Why is windsor locks always included in this list for Bradley intl.? Why?) Last week, I received a summons from Domino and the Bro's to roll back to CT to party it up. My presence was requested. I could not dissappoint. Using all my formidable powers of persuasion, I was able to get Saturday and Tuesday off from work at Harley. As for my shifts sunday and monday at the climbing gym, well, I just won't be showing up. With the last of my moneys, including but not limited to next months rent, car payments, insurance, child support, gambling fund, treats fund, motorcycle fund, and bribery fund I bought an hugely overpirced plane ticket, and after work last night began my quest. So here I be. A little tired. A little ragged. A little sore. And probably a little creepy to hot black chick who is just now switching to a different seat. I'm on my way to the CT.

I can't believe she didn't get over it.