limos and bikes

On the way to the office this morning, about nine, I passed the new postmodern MIT Media Lab building, and parked outside were four shiny black Cadillac limos, New York plates, with four big tough-looking drivers standing by, stuffed into big suits, looking intently at the morning. In the middle of the four limos was a dusty white Ford 4X4, sitting low with armor. Wonder what's coming down.  Or who.

What's much more exciting, though, is that I'm going into town noonish to buy a new bicycle.  Nothing fancy, just a commuter bike.  My ten-year-old cheapo is making alarming noises.  A man of my years and station does not have to ride a creaky bike.  It's a charming eccentricity, but I'd rather glide by on my shiny new Raleigh and have people wonder whether I've entered into a second childhood.  (It's the third, actually.)

Closing in on the end of the new novel.  I'll write on that for two hours before taking on the stack of student papers.

Joe