Sunday, April 1 2001
Throughout the day Gretchen and I had lots of sex in plenty of excruciatingly wonderful ways, as if responding to a force of nature. Our bliss gradually took on a hue of sadness towards the end, especially when we realized daylight savings time had robbed us of one of our last hours together.
See Gretchen preparing to take me to the airport (Windows Media only; sorry Mac people!)
Gretchen took me to John F. Kennedy Airport at around six and, after a long wait in the TWA line, the ticket guy couldn't find me in the computer. I had to dig up the itinerary to prove I was flying to Los Angeles. It turned out I had to make a connection in St. Louis.
St. Louis was a drag. I had the most tasteless deli sandwich I've ever eaten at a deli sandwich place in the terminal. The guy with the mop kept walking by and the sandwich started tasting like mop end to me. I couldn't finish.
Then I spilled my orange juice and smuggled-in vodka into the suitcase I was carrying (loaned to me by Gretchen so I could carry home all the books her father had loaned me). I freaked out and feared it would damage my old diaries, but instead it mostly afflicted the book entitled Gender and Art.
After landing in Los Angeles, I eventually tracked down a cash machine and replenished my depleted wallet. At about this time I was approached by a gentleman offering to take me to my destination for $30. I said sure, and he drove me there in an unmarked newish minivan. This was my first ever experience in a gypsy cab and it was pleasant enough for me to tip the guy $5.
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