From the road
The second thing I did friday, after getting home, was drag my now sopping-wet coat from the rapidly filling washing machine; its placement into, was the first thing. Previous, by a few hours, was a Costco trip. I purchased a 1 gig memory stick for my camera. The third thing was to remove that drenched memory stick from the pocket of that coat. I tried the never-used memory in my camera, the next day, at the airport. You’ll try almost anything when a two hour wait turns into a six hour ordeal.
One of those hours was spent at the mall, luckily within walking distance. At least it is in good weather. I can imagine it being a bit too far in cold, wet or windy weather. I don’t know if the teenaged runaway at the mall walked or not. It looked like she’d slept in her too-large coat, but she might always look like that. “Your dad is looking for you,” from a group of young women elicited, “I ran away. I stood up for myself, finally,” from the coated one.
16 years, more or less. At some point, grey-haired men can’t tell. So much drama at that age. More than a wet memory stick, more than a flight delay, more than a walk to the mall.
Teen aged girls can’t tell how old grey-haired men are either. Are their memory stick always wet? Are they running away? I don’t think she noticed.