...we control your surroundings. Or however the theme from Outer Limits went. Yesterday I went downtown to have lunch with Greg and talk about LOST, as he and Darcie have finally watched "The Incident". We joked about the helicopters in email, and there one was as I walked to the bus at 9:45. Then, in the Monroe Street subway, I looked for a phone, because I was early and wanted to pass it on to Greg that I was moseying around. Two phones did not work, more the norm here than not. And yet the phones still remain, some just the shells. The last one on the left worked, and as you can see, Donnie Rumsfeld must have gotten to the phone just before mwe to put that sticker on the receiver. Next thing you know, I'll see Rod Serling, David Janssen, and Bobby the Mitch chain smoking away, asking me why I won't accept that I'm part of the happy undead.
4 comments:
Perhaps you wandered into an alternate universe one night. Or maybe it'll happen tonight.
Yeah, Wayne, a recurring thought I have is that someday I'll be walking down the street and greet people from my life who I know are dead, and it will occur to me that this is impossible, or "maybe I'm . . ." (really nice blog here!
If you're ever in need of a pay phone downtown again, try the Palmer House. The lobby level -- head for the restrooms to the left of the front desk. Two of them won't work (of course) but at least one does. Found out the other week when I lost my tooth biting down on a piece of wheat toast and needed to call my dentist. Info from one cell phoneless Chicagoan to another.
Just wait until The Bomb wipes out all the electronic airwaves, then they'll be sorry that they don't have any land-lines!
:o)
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