Good Morning America

This morning I watched the sun rise over the eastern horizon. It
raises slowly and poeticaly like a perfect orange ball mirroring
something only my dreams could assemble. The rough landing of the
plane jolted me out of my fasinating gaze. The next three hours proved
to be an episode of the Three Stooges, fumbling around bags, in and
out of wrong buses, over bums, after coffee, long lines, short walks
and around Atlanta. Due to this, I will start sending tidbits under
versions of The Three Stooges names...
To be continued