Word: overheading
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...black curtain unfurling in front of us. In 20 sec., all we could see were the pin lights along the floor. As we stood to evacuate, there was a loud thump. In a crowd of experienced flight attendants, still someone had hit his or her head on an overhead bin. In a new situation, with a minor amount of stress, our brains were performing clumsily. As we filed toward the exit slide, crouched low, holding on to the person in front of us, several of the flight attendants had to be comforted by their colleagues...
When I came down with a hacking cough last week, I headed to the Harvard University Health Services (UHS) pharmacy in the Holyoke arcade for some free cough syrup. Watching CNN on the overhead television while I waited in line, it occurred to me that I was getting what would be my last UHS cold pack. An unaccountable sadness overcame me. It was mostly unwarranted—free antihistamines are nothing to sneeze at (ho!), but they’re hardly worth waxing maudlin over. But my last UHS cold pack was, I realized, just one in a series...
...scene is a future battlefield. On the ground, driverless tanks advance and fire with deadly accuracy, while insect-like vehicles scurry across all but impassable terrain. Overhead, pilots guide their aircraft by talking aloud in the cockpit and aim missiles with the movement of their eyes. Higher still, orbiting jets blast satellites back to earth. All this is surveyed from computer consoles by commanders who refine their strategies and issue new orders as the fighting rages...
...midmorning police and military units had completely sealed off the roads leading into Daveyton, while at key intersections armored cars intercepted internal traffic. Helicopters flew overhead. Mounted policemen stood at the far edge of the cemetery, like shadowy centaurs shimmering in the dazzle of fine dust and sunlight...
Edgar is no stranger to portentousness. Three years earlier he watched the German airship Hindenburg float overhead on its way to Lakehurst, N.J., where it exploded at its mooring. But such encounters with history are few and infrequent. Mostly he catalogs childhood sights and sounds: his dog Pinky, knickers and knee socks, a backyard igloo in winter, a beach in summer. Occasionally his mother Rose breaks into the narrative to complain about her respectable poverty, her husband's failure as a businessman, his card playing and carousing. Dave Altschuler is part owner of a music store located in Manhattan...