29 december 2005
It’s 2004, I’m 28, and I’m at Gate 21 awaiting my flight to Amsterdam. Not bad.
I spent a week in Philly, went with Erin to get her wedding dress altered, saw a Calder exhibit with Matt, came to NYC. Walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, indulged in Paul’s home entertainment system, tried to stay calm in the face of lingering non-excitement.
Now, JFK. I love airports. Anything can happen in an airport. They are full of beginnings, and they feel like the whole world – the languages, the names over the intercom, and the humanity of everyone pushing and pulling their possessions along with them. All types of people end up in airports. It’s like the p.e. class of the adult sphere. The honors students and the kids from remedial reading, they all have to spend time in the same airport. The airport requirement is waved for no one.
People next to me are speaking Dutch.
I spent a week in Philly, went with Erin to get her wedding dress altered, saw a Calder exhibit with Matt, came to NYC. Walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, indulged in Paul’s home entertainment system, tried to stay calm in the face of lingering non-excitement.
Now, JFK. I love airports. Anything can happen in an airport. They are full of beginnings, and they feel like the whole world – the languages, the names over the intercom, and the humanity of everyone pushing and pulling their possessions along with them. All types of people end up in airports. It’s like the p.e. class of the adult sphere. The honors students and the kids from remedial reading, they all have to spend time in the same airport. The airport requirement is waved for no one.
People next to me are speaking Dutch.
posted by tortaluga at 8:14 AM
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