Word: smokes
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...paint, acoustic ceilings and fast laptops at immigration processing. In the departure lounge, there's even a reassuring bright yellow sign: "Renovation of Kabul International Airport. We apologize for any inconvenience caused during the renovation process." The sign is in English, not Dari. But never mind: you can still smoke anywhere in the terminal. You can't expect everything to change overnight...
...back to the gate, having lost Aman in the sea of panicking black robes. More explosions, more tear gas. And the gunshots begin. First from the mosque, then in retaliation from the rangers. We are caught in a narrow corridor, bullets slicing through the thick smoke on either side of us. Another canister of tear gas rolls past my feet, spewing cottony clouds that claw at my eyes and tear at my lungs. My sweat, picking up gas particles clinging to my clothes, burns my skin. Someone from the second floor above the gate pours a bucket of water...
From an early age, LaBeouf was exposed to adult pastimes. With his dad he watched Steve McQueen movies and went to Rolling Stones concerts and AA meetings, where, at age 10, he learned to smoke and play cards. He met a kid whose surfboard he really liked. "He was on Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman," LaBeouf says. "He had all the stuff I wanted, materially. When you're in school, if you've got the new Filas on, no one's gonna punch you that day." The key to new Filas, LaBeouf figured, was to get paid to clown around...
...drifts our way. I run back to the gate, losing Aman in a sea of panicking black robes. More explosions, more tear gas. And then gunshots--first from the mosque, then in retaliation from the rangers. We are caught in a narrow corridor, bullets slicing through the thick smoke on either side of us. A canister of tear gas rolls past my feet, spewing cottony clouds that claw at my eyes and tear at my lungs. Someone from the second floor above the gate pours a bucket of water on us. Blissful reprieve, if just for a few seconds. Coughing...
...defend the U.S. against all slights is waning by the day. I feel embarrassed when my accent betrays me as an American, and defiantly continue to speak French even when addressed in English. If I had a girlfriend, I would make out with her unabashedly in public. And I smoke cigarettes at crowded cafés to the dire annoyance of the American family beside me, responding to their complaints with a snippety: “C’est la France...