This is the story of the greatest love, ever....
J. J. Smith, Keeper of the Records for The Book of Records, is an ordinary man searching for the extraordinary. J.J. has clocked the world’s longest continuous kiss. He has verified the lengthiest single unbroken apple peel. He has tasted the world’s largest menu item. But J.J. has never witnessed great love.
That is, until he comes to a tiny town in the American heartland. Here J.J. discovers a world record attempt like no other. Piece by piece, a farmer is eating a Boeing 747 to prove his love for a woman. But when J.J. unexpectedly falls in love with the same woman, a woman as outwardly cynical as he is, J.J. learns why records are made to be broken...and why the greatest wonders in life can never be measured.
From the Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Man Who Ate the 747|
|Release Date: 11-04-2009|
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The Man Who Ate the 747
Chapter OneIn the shadow of an ancient bridge, the young lovers leaned into each other with great resolve, lips clenched, arms interlocked. It was a determined kiss, neither soft nor sentimental. Stiff and clumsy, they could have been office colleagues stealing away for a moment on the easy banks of the Seine or students from a nearby icole learning the steps of love.
Not far away, behind a red velvet rope, a noisy pack of photographers jockeyed with zoom lenses, capturing the embrace. Flashes strobed and video cameras rolled while the kissers clenched, unflinching. Behind them, on bleachers, several hundred observers shouted encouragement.
"Allez! Vive la France!" one young man cried.
"Courage!" a woman called.
From lampposts on the Nle Saint-Louis, bright banners dangled. Remy Martin, Evian, Air France, Wrigley's - all proud corporate sponsors of the passion play. Men in natty suits surveyed the scene, pleased with the excellent turnout.
In the middle of this bustle, J.J. Smith sat calmly at the judge's table. He was 34 years old with wavy brown hair, a straight, well-proportioned nose, and an oval face, perhaps a bit soft at the edges. There was a certain authority about him. He wore a navy blazer with a gilded crest on the pocket, linen trousers, and sandy bucks. A closer inspection revealed a few frayed stitches on his shoulders, the hem of his jacket lining stuck together with Scotch tape, pants slightly rumpled, shoes a bit scuffed. He couldn't be bothered with clothes, really. There were more important matters on his mind. A thick black notebook lay open on the desk in front of him. He inspected the kissers, then checked th...