tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107591.post-49217140435103322012007-04-24T23:30:00.000-05:002007-04-24T23:58:20.471-05:00Went out for coffee this afternoon and lingered around 17th & L smoking a cigarette. Strolling down the sidewalk is Donald Rumsfeld, talking to a man in a brown suit carrying a briefcase, followed by two steps by a much taller, bulkier guy who is obviously security. Probably leaving the Mayflower, adjacent to my office.<br /><br />Rumsfeld looks shorter than I expect, squinting the way he does and gesticulating as he talked to his companion. I search my mind for something to say. I was tempted to say, "Donald Rumsfeld!" but he probably knows who he is. I couldn't say nice to meet you, because that isn't true.<br /><br />It isn't every day that you get to see a war criminal walking down the street. As he crossed 17th I thought of <span style="font-style:italic;">Marathon Man</span>, when Christian Szell is recognized in New York's diamond district. "Szell...Szell...," says an old woman on 47th Street. "Murderer! Murderer!"<br /><br />It's sort of like a golf clap. It only works if others join in.Citizen Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11764743098754133669noreply@blogger.com