21 December 2007 | Vol. 7, No. 4

Three Hours, More or Less

by CLAUDIA K. GRINNELL

It all happened in Houston. We weren't ready. No gloss, no gel, no nothing

To stiletto the fine line of a proper brow. Nothing to do in this postmodern

Temple of speed walkers, takeoffs, landings, miles and miles (or so

It seems) of shopping, a couple of rib joints and some tee shirts. Not wanting

To bring up a new subject. He was waiting to connect to LA. LAnd of hot chicks.

All like this (a wave of my hand). He nodded, like one might when one wants

To avoid talking. His eyes had their measurements ready, seen them wet,

With a dripping towel round their tummy, puddles on wet tiles, men mopping

After. He offered a small miracle (who could resist a miracle). We give it go. Bang,

There they were. Bags,