A gray bird hovered in Harry’s field of vision. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. Time passes slowly. Yesterday on TV someone was talking about “slow time”. This is where time slows down. Like Christmas Eve before Santa Claus arrives. Or sit in the electric chair before the current turns on.
He beat harder.
They park in the open-air area behind the ticket booths at the toll gate. Ellen turned up the radio a little. The voice of the announcer sounded solemn and reverent.
“The plane landed fifty minutes ago, and at 6:38 a.m. the president landed in Norway. He was welcomed by Mayor Ullensaker. Today is a wonderful autumn day in Oslo: a magnificent Norwegian backdrop for this summit. Let’s listen to what the president said at the press conference half an hour ago.”
It’s the third time. Once again Harry saw the cheering caravans jostling by the barricades. The guys in gray suits on the other side barely bothered to look like the Secret Service, stooping and relaxing again as they watched the crowd, checking for the twelfth time that their headsets were straight, followed the men, focused for a few seconds on the photographer with the telephoto lens a bit too long, continued to follow, checking the headset until the thirteenth time. Someone greeted the president in English, everything fell silent. Then a crunch in the microphone.
By Jahan Sampson