How long has it been? Over a month, or somesuch, and thinking about posting doesn't count.
Unless you're in that Timothy Hutton movie and your thoughts become scary books that only Stephen King would write, which means they're not very scary after all, just moderately entertaining, and that only if you've got four hours until your connecting flight and the Schipol cafe and bar is totally free of Japanese businessmen who want to buy you drinks at nine o'clock in the stinking morning.
Yes, Mr. Nakamura, I still have your card after all this time. If I ever make it to Osaka, I'll be sure to look you up, which will probably be a breach of all kinds of etiquette. I suppose I could e-mail you, but that would be a pitiful attempt to recycle a moment only capable of surviving in its original context. Beyond your Cosmopolitan, my coffee and the jet lag all around us like haze in LA traffic, there isn't anything left to say.
Except, "Huh, I've kinda missed this."
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