The plane is packed, not a single spot is free. I got an aisle seat and next to me sits a couple who forgot where they are. They behave as if this was their living room couch. I look at my unfolded table and try to think of something good. In the back a baby is crying like bloody murder, honestly, I've never heard a human being scream so much. I close my eyes and try to think of nothing bad. Finally the machine moves and my little journey begins.
An hour later I find myself standing in a cue. There is steady movement, but it's painfully slow. Passport control. An Indian kid doesn't listen to his father and keeps playing with the barrier straps. One of them snaps open and slaps the boy in the face. Now he's sorry. A few minutes later I'm standing in another row of people. They take forever to buy their tickets, I don't get it. You name your destination, they name the price, and that's it. By the time I get mine, I've already missed my train.
Finally I get home. Of course, later than expected. I unlock the door and enter my room. It is my room, but it feels oddly unfamiliar. Only after I unpack my bags, get a shower and re-enter it I get more comfortable. I sit down at my desk, start the computer and prepare a cup of coffee. Raindrops hit my window and form little rivers. They remind me of old people's hands. Sigh. Old people's hands. What am I going to do with my life? Perhaps next year will tell.
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