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8:00 a.m. - 2006-01-04 Two mornings later I'm in the back of an LA gypsy-cab, speeding through the fog; hung-over on my way to the airport (is there any other way to catch an early flight? why am I always shouting "I gotta be on a plane in three hours!" over a drink I can't remember ordering?) and my shoes are planted firmly in what appears to be wedding-cake remains, abandoned on the floorboard by one of last night's fares. South-Central's familiar grid seems still beneath its misty blanket, though doubtless the kids are already up and chompin' at the bit to get at their presents. I feel a faint pang of nostalgia for the holiday's old sense of urgency. Little did I know that an hour later, after dragging myself through the obligatory indignity of security lines and screening, I'd be receiving a Christmas gift of my own. And by "gift" I mean "miracle": Amazing right? No, not the fact that I was drinking well vodka at 8:30 AM (that's what Santa likes to refer to as a "given"), but the fact that my "classic Mary" was mixed, according to this receipt, by Jesus! (Who didn't introduce himself, or I'd have totally bought him a birthday drink.) And don't think miracle was over, pagans;'cause what was I treated to on the plane-ride afterwards? A hot, complimentary, cup of Joseph! Greets, etc.!
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