We land, its Sunday already. Hotlanta is well behind us now, a brief blip on the culinary horizon.

They've got a Popeye's chicken there too, hooray.

Ten AM. Lot of hustle and bustle.

People checking in, gearing up for the day's flights.

This is the heavy period, a million decaying details culminating in getting on board a plane and executing the great plan.

We are disgorged somewhere just past that. They keep us mostly separate.

Beyond the darkened blast doors you walk out like you are on a game show called "Who Am I Going Home With". Its a much better rush than landing at any other US airport with its subdued lighting and timeless aura. alpensa

No, by God, you just got off and through all those bullshit lines and you are now IN ITALY. Daa da daataaa.

And "here are the people with whom you will spend the next week of your life!"

In that regard SFO is so much more interesting. So too Seattle, stupid old YRK up in Vancouver.

I see short people and tall people. Skinny people and fat people. People in five kinds of mufti, three kinds of local gear. Skin tone and complexion every color of the rainbow including polka dots.

Here its mostly clothes and attitude. Social strata and culture are more of a thing here.

The rapid dash to the gate, gotta get there in time.

Seems like I know them somehow, maybe different times.

Riding in a Stud's Bearcat, Jim -- you know those were different times.

And the ladies, they roll their eyes.

Sweet Jane across the tarmac and I don't know her but I wish I did. Wish I could say, hey, about that time we had. No big deal. Your kid is awfully big these days.

For Johnny Lawless, once again stuck at M airport with nothing but my attitude, time has shifted not at all. Its like he's been there the entire time. Hasn't even stepped off the plane he was waiting for.

"Hey Johnny Lawless -- lets go get some kit."

Sounds about right. Mill about. See thee people. Busses have no intention on moving for at least fifteen minutes from the minute they see us walk around the corner.

Engines are cool. Time to get some cash.

This exercise is much easier when you don't have to face the music of rush hour in Milan. With a more languid pace of life one can get cash, still have ones marbles. Buy some Daygum, kick the tires on how the cassa system works.

Money on the counter, change how it comes.

The nuances of international trade. One must make as friendly to the natives as one can. This is their land, after all and you are different just by the way you stand.

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