He wandered through the airport, killing time until the flight was announced. The terminal was nothing special: a cinderblock building at the end of a stretch of tarmac, part of a "complex" some five miles outside a small town. The Sardinia Wisconsin International Airport, the sign pretentiously announced -- and as far as he could tell, it was "international" only in spirit. He wandered outside for fresh air. It was hotter than a busy New York intersection in August, but at least it wasnt that overly conditioned air forced on him at every turn. A small playground stood at one side, and, with nothing better to do, he sat on one of the teeter-totters. I negotiated my first deal on one of these, he thought with a small smile. He hated bologna then -- and still did, he realized. But he made that slice of luncheon meat sound like the ambrosia of the gods themselves, in trade for an oh so common PB&J. He got the deal, just as he mastered every one since. No, this isnt the time for regret, he briefly chided himself. You've worked hard and look what it's gotten you. With a self mocking smile, he looked around.... yep, that bologna sandwich started a whole chain of events that brought him to the Sardinia International Airport. My... his business professors would be so very proud... "Everything okay?" He looked up: a standard issue security guard, one of those semi retired men who got laid off when the local industry went to hell and turned to security because it was easy money. He'd seen a thousand of them just this year alone. "Fine. Just sitting, if that's okay." "Sure it is." The guard took out a cigarette and lit up. "I like coming out here myself from time to time. Good place to think, y'know?" He nodded as graciously as possible. The guard seemed oblivious to his half heart response. "I played on one of these things as a kid. Guess we all did, huh. So, you want that side?" "I beg your pardon?" "Let's go for a ride." "You're not serious." "You think anyone's gonna care if you do or not? Mister, you're outa this burg in about fifteen minutes, and no one's ever gonna see you again. So relax." He threw an easy leg over the plank and sat, raising the traveller off the ground. "This is silly." The guard smiled. "And you're not entitiled to be a little silly?" He lifted his body, letting the weight of the traveller reangle the board. Now the guard was suspended in the air, grinning like an eight year old. "Your turn." With a mental shrug, the businessman raised his body, bringing the guard back to earth. Then something clicked -- for a moment, he was eight again, sitting on the teeter totter at West Birdville Elementary with his best friend Marco. Friends forever, they decided, as they whooped up and down in the air, casting caution to the wind until the school bell rang and -- -- and suddenly the guard stopped. "They just called your flight. Better get a move on; they dont wait long around here." Flustered, the businessman gathered himself and eased off the ride. "Thanks. That was... well, fun." The guard grinned. "Yer welcome. Anytime."