The experience of riding the machine is like you... being shot out of a cannon, while riding a rhinoceros, that’s trained as a classical ballerina.
“Bring me a trucker hat,” a #TextFromHisRoyalRyness vibrated my desk as I tapped: c. o. n. f. e. d. e. r. a. t. e. m. o. t. o. r. c. y. c. l. e. s. onto the keyboard. “10-4 City Kitty!”
Skip number two was different from the first.
The first made my pulse race, my hands tremble, my breath quicken. The first time my heart skipped that day, I was curious. And anxious. And falling all over myself with the intoxicating exhilaration that courses through your body when a cosmically hot tip races down your optic nerve toward your brain - waiting at the other end like a impatient commuter.
The second skip was the elixir.
His quiet, deliberate, eloquent, patient, perhaps even shy, definitely humble and gracious ... Passion ... gave even the hands on the clock reason for pause.
Patient.
It was his patience that grabbed hold of me, bewitching me with repose. I continued to look, listen, hang on every word in fact. And from a degree of observation that I can only compare to a meditation I've been welcomed into but once before. In the end, this force took me by the shoulders, sat me down with stationery, and allowed me to find the words to ask him for an interview.
Want more? I did.
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