The departure board is a sea of red and the Argentinean tourists are getting mighty annoyed. There is a flamboyant beauty to the gesturing Argentinean woman smoking a cigarette with an irritated urgency whilst a stream of angry Spanish is poured down the mobile balanced stylishly in the palm of a perfectly manicured hand.
I really can't worry about this anymore. The plane will leave when it leaves. I fear though, that my bed in Cambridge is shrinking away into the small hours of tomorrow morning.
The food at this airport is pretty dire , but its the only game in town, so I've been picking away at the funny tasting fish-paste sandwiches.
Maybe I'll walk through dutyfree again and slap on some more "age rescue" firming cream....or add to the increasingly exotic combo of smells already wafting around me as I spray on more and more ofthe obscure brands of South American cologne.
Its all rather fun in a punch-drunk melancholy sort of way. The 10 euro an hour wireless access is a bit much though.
Ok
I think its time to go to the bathroom and look at the syringe exchange box again .
Then I'll go to the smoking room from hell and puff away amongst a babbling crowd of wild gestures and studied, stylish indifference .
I may just stay right here. I wonder how many days or months worth of hours I accumulated over the years stranded in airports?
Hope the weather is fine wherever you are
T
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