Wandering through JFK on no sleep. I see piles of humanity laid across tables snoring their way through the tedious clean of the marble floors. The pale light of the men's room. The grumble of the crowd waiting to get on the plane.
Everything pulses and blurs as the touch of my shoes sounds alarming reverberations around me. I yawn. My eyes close. I snap awake, sitting down near my gate, refusing to allow myself the stupidity of missing this flight.
And it's all worth it.
It's 2:47 pm. Detroit, Michigan. I've convinced a not-at-all-belligerent worker at Einstein Bros. Bagels to sell me a sandwich. Egg, sausage, and cheese. That and the hour or so of sleep I stole on the plane have perked me up enough to enjoy the muted CNN on the TV screen across the aisle. Which is a sad, sad state of affairs.
3:21 pm (4:21 pm NYC time)
Each time we land whenever I ride a plane, I'm hit with the realization that I should have been shitting myself the entire time. Somehow I never understand how thin the line is between me, inside a metal tube, and a horrible death. Until we are safely landed and I'm on my way.
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