Sitting in the airport, fan blowing, hiding the
fact that it is more than 30 degrees right now.
The locals are on their phones
but the tourists are familiar and waiting
with blank expression, checking boarding
'receipts'. And mismatched accents.
Looking out through the glass windows
that every airport seems to have, see
navy-dark green mountains and plenty
of clouds. They are far off, far
from the happily flat land for
bicycle riding.
The murmur is gibberish to us. Quacking
with the odd trace of 'real' accent,
and we stand, waiting for the delayed
plane, calling 'cheat' at the cards we
were dealt by strangers.
20/9/2011
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