I sat in airports.
Crossing and re-crossing my legs. Rows of pleather, arm-linked seating; PA loud in Arabic, French, German. English?
Coiling and twisting in tiny plane recliners. Turkey in gravy like grey, viscous pudding.
Thin lemon in my gin. Stiff blanket in my lap. Adjust and re-adjust and white-hot cramping in my calf.
And then I came home.
I walked in.
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