06.06.08
Human traffic
Sitting in the departure lounge I watch the ebb and flow of the human traffic.
Lines form and drain away at the podiums and behind the clear walls the transients drift by, a show of disinterested acceptance of their recent experiences.
I spend hours here. Here or somewhere which looks like here. Maybe the colours are different this time, I’m not sure - or not sure that I care.
The gift shop has supplied my with something new so this must be a new location but, other than that, it’s hard for me to tell. This time I have a dolphin and a strange man made out of rocks - not real you understand, they wouldn’t fit in my carry-on allowance, but trinkets and things carrying their likeness.
It’s through these things that I track where I’ve been. I could simply log this I suppose but the things are more real, something I can look at and touch.
Purple. I don’t think I’ve been anywhere else which was quite so purple. I don’t think I like it. No-one else seems to notice but I think they just don’t care.
There are many things I could be doing and quite a few I should be doing but instead I sit contemplating the journey ahead, wondering what I’ll watch on the vid, what I’ll eat and whether the stranger next to me will be pleasant or not.
And then I’m gone.
- J.
