November 30, 1989
Sitting on the curb outside exit C-2 on the upper level of Dallas Fort Worth airport. My plane got in at three, I missed the 3:30 bus, and the next one doesn’t leave till 5:30. It’s a two-hour bus ride and I’m not even sure of being met at the end of it. I have no way of contacting George. His phone has been disconnected, and who knows if he’ll get any of the messages I’ve left at the Texasville inn. In other words: a typical George situation.
