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He could not believe he was sitting on the front step waiting for a cab. Enraged, he used the closest flower pot as a convenient projectile. It shattered against the fence, the pickets sifting shards from soil. He caught a flash of yellow rounding the corner. He met the cab on the street. He had no desire to linger. "Airport," he said to the driver. "Do you have bags, Sir?" the driver asked. "No," he replied. "Just drive."

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