I’m at the airport waiting for my flight. I arrived yesterday and should have known something was up. My driver’s license expired. It expired last October, and once before, maybe when I left Baltimore last month the TSA agent pointed it out in Baltimore and yesterday morning at Islip, but said it’s still valid under their policies. Fine. I filed it way. I didn’t renew it. Why? You can’t rent a car without a valid license. I tried to get a car with Hertz, but it wasn’t happening. The woman behind the counter said, you can try to reach DMV and they can fax us something. I looked at her and shook my head. Dealing with New York’s DMV is like pulling teeth, waiting to wait and more frustrating than needs to be. I called Ali, after a feeble attempt at renting from Dollar (Hertz said in a whisper, Dollar may rent a car to you) It wasn’t happening. Thank God for out agent here, who arranged to get me picked up and made my appointments. In fact, I made it to the Pirates game last night. When I walked to the stadium I asked for one ticket, the attendant asked, where do you want to sit? Where’s your best seat? There was a pause, and he said how would you like to be next to the dugout? Thirty five dollars. Last night I sat in the best seats I ever sat before. I don’t think I’d sit that close again! There was only one row in front of me. The players for the Brewers were mere feet in front of us, and I know they heard these little shit bag kids who taunted them. The Pirates won. I had a chance to tell Willie Randolph, thanks for your years in New York. He nodded his head and sort of tipped his finger on his cap. Walked back to the hotel and spoke to Dennis for awhile before drifting off to sleep. I’m back at the airport and sitting here in an empty terminal as jets zip off the runways before silence returns in this empty place.