In Transit

For someone who's technically 'in-transit', i find myself very static. The final flight of the evening is just boarding. Soon the departure lounge will be all but empty. For the last two hours, we've shared departure gates 11-12 and the smell of my well-traveled feet. Now they're off to Miami. This leaves me, my socks and my temporary base-camp in Starbucks solitude. The staff here have been good enough to keep the shutters up, thus enabling me to enjoy the sofa and electrical sockets till sunrise.

I have a brown faux-leather sofa within cables reach of electrofantastic juice for the laptop. This juice is being shared with the phone, who's battery died during a particularly frantic 'Words With Friends' match. A table has been fashioned from a footrest. Upon there rest my feet and a (possibly contaminated) hot chocolate and apricot muffin. I haven't decided if the muffin is a late night snack or breakfast yet.

As the minutes pass by i find myself contemplating not ever being able to leave the transit departure lounge. My passport and I, we were stamped out of Argentina but not stamped into Chile. The transit lounge is no-mans land. I'm here but nowhere. Maybe i don't even exist beyond this sofa. I'd be on first name terms with all the guys and gals at Starbucks, i'd have a different friend on the sofa each day, and maybe the cleaners would let me ride their cool electronic cart once in a while. I'd collect a small library of discarded books and wear a different duty free scent everyday. Though i'm pretty sure these imaginations might be a film i've seen...

Anyway.

Having just completed 'Brida' by Paulo Coehlo, the discarded book library gives me an idea. The book will be left here on my footrest as a gift for a stranger. #recyclebooks

With a resolution to write a little more often, providing i make it out of transit.

Love,

- Glenn x