what is it about flying?
you meet a whole different type of people. who do crossword puzzles. who read books. who sit in hallways. who all seem a part of this subculture that exists only on the other side of the security check.
makes me wonder how well i fit in. all i have left to do is crossword puzzles. somehow they've always seemed the preserve of a pipe smoking man in tweed. besides, i dont have a lot of patience for word games.
how much of a culture is influenced by the activities we do? has a microcosm developed that has its own rituals?
you meet a whole different type of people. who do crossword puzzles. who read books. who sit in hallways. who all seem a part of this subculture that exists only on the other side of the security check.
makes me wonder how well i fit in. all i have left to do is crossword puzzles. somehow they've always seemed the preserve of a pipe smoking man in tweed. besides, i dont have a lot of patience for word games.
how much of a culture is influenced by the activities we do? has a microcosm developed that has its own rituals?
pilots, the hand of fate. flight attendants, the high priests. accorded their status and wearing their robes. we the weary pilgrims who descend to earth.
everywhere i look, the hum of silence. weary travellers, adrift on the jet stream, alight for moments of sanity and go back to their abode in the sky.
you know what gets me about flying? the indifference of it all. long hours of solitude spent among the bustle of people. we all look busy doing the same thing.
stuck in a holding pattern 190 miles from chicago. it gave me time to think.
No comments:
Post a Comment