deplaning2 People in rows of chairs surround me.  Through a glass wall the jack knife tail of the plane sits high above the sleek,  powerful, aluminum tube that will transport me through space and time to another world…

A slender, brown skinned girl sits across from me tapping the floor with impatience, a braided blue tattoo across the top of her foot.

Men with tigers or “motor city” on their t-shirts – a passerby with no shoes – “sixty somethings” wearing Polo shirts, their big bellies carried like heart tumors (the weight of their lust)  wander about.

 A baby with a latex nipple clenched in maternal bliss (eyes half closed in ancient dreams) nods its head in ecstasy; a pug faced boy, his head thrown back wailing… drowns out the smooth jazz  sounds of Boney James.

Someone nearby says, “I’ll tell you, if that child sat next from  me I’d kill him.”

The brown skin girl’s eyes lock on to mine; her nervous toe taps; left to right – left to to  right. She rises and disappears…

 A  white poodle panting, next to a cell phone on its masters lap, takes her place.

 People with cells are everywhere, speaking into their hands;   they gaze faraway, draw their little pistols and shoot out messages.

They speak in earnest tones, loudly enough to invade my space…

 “I hate these fucking intrusions into my private life.  They force me to intrude into the minutiae of their lives.”  

 Time travelers emerge single file, into my world – the world of their imagined bliss, searching with wide eyed expectancy.   Will the gamble to find their personal utopia – away from the world of work, strife and boring madness – pay off?

 In my world, I sit on steel girders risen two stories above the ground, waiting to be packed into the sleek metal tube; transported to the utopia within my mind’s eye.

 I’m in the world of flight now, close to the emptiness of space,  astonished to think that Himalayan peaks are still 10,000 feet higher.

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