Struggled to get to the Atlanta airport with sufficient time. Yet again not impressed with airport security in the least. Fly to Philly next to this little kid that loved nothing better than to use his game boy as a gun against his mothers pleas for him to stop.
Wait five hours, do many laps in the Philly Airport, waiting for my plane. Finally find a quiet corner to play some music, next to the VIP club. Riffraff need not apply.
Its time to board now, but 1st classes only. This time I make my “riffraff” comment out loud, and this girl invites a conversation. Patched jeans, funny bright blue shirt, pink belt, red spiky hair. Somehow this outfit worked, but not despite my efforts I can’t figure out what the style is. I think its just style, if style can be unadulterated and pure,,, probably not, but it was style, I think. She is a row in front of me, and I contemplate finagling seats so that I can sit next to her and continue the conversation, but wimp out. What kind of excuse would work here? The truth, but we are too weak for that here now, of course.
Can’t sleep, but didn’t give it a very good try: there were too many movies to watch. A mistake, irresponsible, yeah yeah. Jet lag sucks, and I’m inviting it.
Get off in Gatwick, not yet registering the gravity of these first steps. Catch up with her, and we decide to stick together to figure out how to get downtown. I can see blue sky outside, but I’m stuck in a passport line that doesn’t seem to be moving in the slightest, thank you. The other ones are moving, of course: much faster than ours. The look-at-one-person-in-the-other-line-and-compare-progress footrace affirms these speculations. I don’t switch lines, though. Probably for the same reason I didn’t sleep on the plane. Call it principle, I suppose :)
We make it to Victoria, and say farewell. I give her my email address, in case I end up in Glasgow, or her London, but don’t attempt to stretch the farewell any further than necessary. Maybe in another life, or dimension, but not this one.