Another note to the poet:
Chicago? You’re traveling again. For a guy so down to earth you spend a lot of time up in the air. This is a side of your life I can’t picture. I don’t travel much myself. I try to see you in airports but the architecture of the terminals of my imagination was designed by the movies. I see Leo DiCaprio in a snappy pilot’s uniform striding along, trailed by giddy stewardesses. I see George Clooney, unshaven, weary, but still charming a woman in blue-lit bar. But I can’t pick you out of the crowd until I see Tom Hanks turning a corner of a deserted waiting area into a makeshift hotel room. You’re telling him a joke in the made-up Eastern European language of his character. It’s not a very funny joke but you tell it well and it reminds Tom of home and he loves you for it.
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