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Word: shirt (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...thing Melissa Knieling noticed was the man's shirt. Even in the packed Los Angeles International Airport, where she was collecting donations for a women's shelter, the bright pink shirt stood out. But not him. Sometime around 11:30 a.m., when she glanced over at the El Al ticket counter, the man in the pink shirt caught her eye and held it. "He didn't seem angry," the 18-year-old says now with a shiver. "Then he nonchalantly pulled out his gun and started shooting...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Airport Security: Firing on the Fourth | 7/15/2002 | See Source »

...will lead the adventure, fighting rivers, animals, weather and diseases for thousands of miles, and you will march right beside them. But you, the aboriginal multitasker, will also breast-feed. And at the end of your Sacagawea journey, you will be shown the exit and given a souvenir T shirt that reads, IF THE U.S. IS EDEN, THEN SACAGAWEA...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: What Sacagawea Means To Me (and Perhaps to You) | 7/8/2002 | See Source »

...Kopperud spins some memorable scenes: a desert girl in a white T shirt dancing to Bob Marley, a boy monk in a burnished temple dispensing wisdom with a marble. The best of these freight the tale with visual and emotional meaning. Longing needs the ballast. Kopperud has a philosophy student's weakness for spiraling, unanswerable rhetorical queries...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Dreamland | 7/8/2002 | See Source »

...Ichiro's at bats are clinics in working over a pitcher: stretch, shirt tug, foul, foul, foul, flare to left center. With his maddening skill at making contact, it's nearly impossible to fire three pitches past Ichiro. When he dives after a curveball in the dirt, as Zito induces him to do in his first at bat, "I can't really pat myself on the back," Zito says. He figures Ichiro just made a rare mistake...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Ichiro Paradox | 7/8/2002 | See Source »

...minutes after touchdown in Vegas, a man with a placard bearing my name greeted me. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, sandals strapped to his feet and Ray-Ban sunglasses dangling from around his neck. He looked at me, smirked, and remarked, “You’ll learn.” I realized what he meant the moment I stepped out into the desert heat. I had been lucky enough to arrive on the hottest day of the year; the thermometer read 107. My perfectly pressed shirt was now a wet rag, and somehow...

Author: By Michael A. Capuano, | Title: Sweat, Campaigning In Vegas | 7/5/2002 | See Source »

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