As much as I would like to go to the E Street Band show in Tampa on September 12, the only tickets left are for the lawn at the top of the amphitheater, or are good seats, but priced at $98. Seeing as I’d need two or three, the latter seems out of the question.
When I was a four- or five-year-old boy, I was startled one morning by the sound of a roaring lion right outside my bedroom window. I didn’t lift the shade to verify the source of the sound, but I was certain it had to be a lion.
When someone did come to protect me from the lion, and took me to the window to see the beast, I found something completely unexpected. The fearsome roar was, in fact, a hot air balloon flying low above the woods across Fletcher. I was in awe. Since that day, I have dreamed of riding in a hot air balloon.
I suppose that I will someday ride in a hot air balloon. But when I do, I want to do it right. It needn’t be in some spectacular place like the Grand Canyon or the Loire Valley, but I wouldn’t want to just drive out to Palatka and soar majestically over a bunch of rotting mobile homes and deserted strip malls.