Heart Race

Feel my heart
race now
almost as it does
when we kiss.

"Ladies and gentleman: our flight attendants will be returning with drinks in just a moment..."

The sudden announcement takes a crowbar to my gentle hold on soft, soft sleep. I don't much like flying.

How was the flight? The flight was long and uncomfortable. Sitting in the aisle seat — lucky number 13D — was good for getting knocked around every three seconds by a restless passenger stumbling towards the restroom. Restrooms are good for the restless. Good news is we didn't crash, we didn't get hijacked.

Finally off the plane and out into sunny skies and warm air. Friends, family, and love back home tell me that the weather in New York City is miserable. Indeed, it kept me up all night long; hail and wind crying against my windows like hungry kittens.

And anxiety, too: in between better dreams of you, I imagined my apartment burning to nothing while I'm away.

Please be there when I return.

Out onto the street, publisher Dave Colford hails the nearest limo, and apologizes: "I'm sorry, guys, but I just can't deal with the cab lines."

"I don't mind," I tell him.

Though the driver decides on a couple of wrong turns, we do make it to our hotel, and only after taking in some impossibly beautiful sights. Things you don't usually see. At least not in the City: mountains, cacti, palm trees, and forever skies.

I find myself thinking that, someday, I might like to live like this. And I wonder what you would think of that.

Today was nothing much more than meetings, greetings, and registerings. We're here. The calm before the storm.

While in Las Vegas, I'll be posting more of the usual bad poetry — don't worry — but you should keep in touch with our daily CES reports here.

We're all bloggers now.

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