Terry C. Thomas provides an introduction to chapter ten of his book: At Least We Were Married.

When I nosed off the ramp at the airport exit, it was ten-fifty. Nancys plane was arriving at ten fifty-nine. I was held up at a couple of red lights and finally parked the car at ten fifty-three. Watching the time anxiously, I tore up to the United Airlines desk, asked at which gate Nancys plane was to arrive, and ran — sport coat waving — tie flapping — down the concourse to the receiving area. The airport clock registered ten fifty-seven — two minutes to spare.

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