the souflaki dimension

In Chicago I rode an airport bus on a suprisingly long journey, on that road system in the city within the city that is O’hare. Trash was blowing in the grey wind, but not homeless people. It was just me and two caffeinated and nicotein-ed flight attendents, on their endless journey around the world in metal tubes. At the gate there was a babel of yiddish, the anguish of young children, and other unknown exotic noises. The Austrian Air jet waited outside and the pilot was hanging outside the window polishing the logo “The Sound of Music”. They should probably change the motto to “The Sound of Unhappy Babies”. Within a half hour I had lost my hat. I looked in awe at the Yiddish men and their yamikahs, what incredible secrets they must know to keep those on. The teleportation machine spun up and after some interminable period of time we were spit out into the new dimension: the Souflaki Dimension. And that is where it begin.