Ten Feet and Ten Days  I arrive in Australia or Latin America by plane with a group. I take an escalator down, then up, then down, to get to the customs area. It's a crowded airport. I don't think I have all the necessary papers and passport, but I do. I go through the pass gate. The lady asks me how long I'm staying. The woman next to me says 10 feet. I say 10 feet. Then I realize the inappropriateness of that answer, so I say 10 feet and 10 days, joking around. The woman charges me $26 for my stay. I move to pay for the bill, and since I don't have enough cash I put it on my MasterCard. While I'm paying, someone comes up to the lady that is helping me and shows her a photograph of her jogging with a neck brace on. My friend Tim Zelling wants to look at hacky sacks to buy. I say okay. I don't have much money, and I owe money on my MasterCard.