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A trip to New York

By Garrison Keillor

Slight panic in the airport out in Texas. Waiting to check a bag, pull out my billfold, no driver’s license. Check pockets, briefcase. Credit cards, no license. The brain flutters. Hotel? Taxi? Pickpocket? A teen terrorist from Izvestistan perhaps, trying to persuade TSA he is 75 and from Anoka, Minnesota?

How about dementia? Loss of license today, tomorrow can’t conjugate “lay” and “say,” next day my wife’s name is missing along with the three branches of government.

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