Word: houres
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...closed its doors. "The environment here in Missouri is so hostile," its administrator told the local paper. With four abortion doctors left in the state, compared with 10 as recently as 1996, Lisa's closest alternative turned out to be the Planned Parenthood clinic in St. Louis, an eight-hour round trip by car. That meant Lisa, who has no car, not only had to ask a friend to drive her but also had to come up with an excuse for missing two days of work, because she was afraid to tell her boss the truth. Two weeks later...
Some of those who deal with women seeking abortions have different theories. "The restrictions may stop some, but we think things like the 24-hour waiting period and the reduction of the numbers of clinics do not reduce abortions. They increase later abortion," says St. Louis--region Planned Parenthood CEO Paula Gianino, who has been at the organization for 15 years. While Missouri keeps no statistics that would back up that contention, a 2000 study by Guttmacher conducted in Mississippi found that the percentage of second-trimester abortions increased after the state adopted mandatory counseling and waiting periods...
...still can't do it alone. Earlier this month, she got a $7-an-hour cashier job at a Family Dollar store; about $30 of her $200-a-week paycheck goes to child care for her son Hayden, 8 months old. She still lives in an apartment subsidized and furnished by Our Lady's Inn. Pointing to her spartan surroundings, she notes, "All the furniture in this apartment is theirs. All of it: the TV, the bed, the couch, the crib, the coffee table, dishes--everything I need...
...close look at the loosening of concerns in one of the places you?d think would be most paranoid about security: a commercial flight. Over the holidays, the FAA temporarily resurrected the post-911 rule forbidding passengers from leaving their seats during the final half hour of any flight headed into Washington?s Reagan National Airport. Inconveniently, the crew of my Reagan-bound flight failed to warn passengers of the approaching limit (as was commonly done), until we had passed it, leaving me not only in need of a bathroom break, but also holding a sealed bag of dirty diapers...
...plane, unescorted, with my pack of poop. Which is exactly what I did, much to the wide-eyed horror of my fellow passengers, who clearly envisioned some burly air marshal tackling me in the aisle and diverting our flight to god know what airport for a six-hour FBI interrogation...