I’m sitting at a gate in Chicago O’Hare. A pretty spotted brown bird landed on the seat in front of me. As it flew away I felt something hit my head, near my bangs.
That’s why I just walked (what felt like a mile) to the bathroom, afraid to investigate the cold spot on my scalp. In the ladies’ room, staring back from the mirror, was a startled blond woman with a gruesome, viscous black and white liquid streak running from the outside corner of her right eye, down her cheek, onto her coat, and across her (only) shirt.
When I land in Boston, I will immediately drive from the airport to deliver a VC pitch. Soiled shirt and all. I can only laugh.