It’s too soon to pack. I am packing in my head. Checklists scroll through… passport, check. Netbook, check. Power cords, check. Sweater, shirts, jeans (which jeans?) shoes (which shoes)… and more importantly what books shall I read on the plane? Today I decided on books, all unread from my bookshelf. I have three that I chose for different reasons. I wonder if you can guess any of them from their beginnings…
1. It was on a Sunday morning in the loveliest part of the spring. Georg Bendemann, a young merchant sat in his room on the second floor of one of the low, lightly built houses that extend along the river in a long line, differing, if at all, only in height and coloration.
2.”We need you to kill a man.”
This stranger glanced nervously around us. I feel that a crowded restaurant is no place for such talk as a high noise level gives only limited privacy.
3. They found the body in a tuft of floating forest a half-day’s swim from ringsol six. Daven was the first to see it, Rache the first to recognize it for what it was.
This week has been insanely busy and next week will likely be the same. My next day off may yet be the day that I am sitting on a plane, unavailable, isolated, packed with only my books to keep me company for my eighteen hour journey.