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Airports put me ill at ease. Fluorescent lighting and long windowed corridors that hold no presence, or people, for longer than a few sprung and lost hours. Chemical smells from chemical fabrics, faux stone floors and synthetic rugs, the industrial latrines and their chemicalled over piss-smell. Corporate monsters rambling the world in their boxy suits and all the fake plastic food on offer.  And the subjection of waiting in line to be scanned, prodded, stripped and patted again. It vibrates the inner bell whose resonance is a bellyache and fear of more aggressive patdowns. In my slower, gentler future, we’d travel by dirigibles and trains and intimate touching of inseams would be of the optional variety.

Categories: Postcards.

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