Stainding in the middle of the packed airline gate I found myself at odds with what was to take place in the short few hours ahead of me. I tipped my watch towards me: 7:46am - still time to run to the men's room for a piss or to the airway exit for a cigarette and change of heart.
I laugh to myself now thinking of a more vibrant inner self: I. When times weren't quite as difficult as there are now.
Another check of the watch.
A cig would go down so well right about now.
The butterflies in my gut felt more like two rabbits fighting for space to exist...I've always been drawn to Kerouac's saying on things such as this. He said: “What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? -it's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”
Ya, it's that feeling. Numb. Plain. Fuzzy. Sick.
The gate attendant announces the loading time - five minutes out.
People shuffle and squirm trying to be first though their seat is static in the high alpha-numerals and they fail to be of first-class denomination.
The smell of Starbuck, newspapers, gate carpet, and air conditioning.
I stand and ready myself.
The I and T in the EXIT sign are flickering as I cross through it's threshold and secure the smashed pack of Camels in my shirt pocket.
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