Last night I was waiting at the airport for my friends to arrive. And the flight has been delayed. Twice. So I’m sitting in a nearby airport café, drinking some airport coffee, thinking and watching everyone around me. The slow pace of the cops and security guards, the families waiting for the evening’s flights to take them away. Christmas is over, along with the holiday season. I didn’t really relish mine, because a chunk of it was done hanging around in the humidity with relatives I really didn’t have anything in common with anymore. So I shut the fuck up most of the time and drank. They on the other hand decided to repeat the same joke over and over again, getting louder and louder as the night bore on. In the end I had had enough and crashed at a friend’s place, where my brother still had the keys.
The upside was that I got to hang out with some buddies from the old days and drink with them. But as usual, the week was short and soon enough I was back in town.
Right now, while I write this there is a guy who has this aluminium briefcase, with the dial locks on it. He’s opened it up and inside is standard stuff. A book (Matthew Reilly’s latest I think), a camo bucket hat, sunglasses, some pens and the like. I take another gulp of coffee. When I return my attention to the man, he’s taken out a white pouch from a briefcase pocket in the lining and fished out some speakers from the pouch. And then he goes to put the pouch back in and uses a pen to lift up the flap of the pocket. As if he is afraid to touch the thing with his hands, like there is a giant knife wielding, poisonous spider lurking in the pocket. He crams pouch back in the pocket and then leaves his carry on luggage at the table to get a coffee, looking at me when leaving the table. I dart my attention back to my coffee and my notes.
My friends have had a bit of a whirlwind trip, considering that they got married, then had to attend the mother’s funeral on one side and learn of a pending divorce on the other. And then some friends of theirs’ got busted up in a fight with pillheads.
Next year, I’m planning an orphan-styled Christmas party. No family just friends and food. I’m not a hundred percent sure that this is a good idea. Still I guess I should run the idea by people.
Anyway, it’s late and I am very tired.