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17 October 2000 @ 09:03 am
Airport  
The guitar is slung over my shoulder. I stand tapping my foot, impatient. If there's one thing I hate about airports, it's that nothing works out.

I watch a woman greet her husband after he walks into the terminal. They hug. He notices a bra clinging to his pant leg, and he quickly (slyly, he thinks) scoops it up and into his pocket. He then wraps his arm around his wife's waist, thinking she hasn't seen. And she pretends that she hasn't, even though she did and she knows it. In fact, from the look on her face I'd venture to say that she not only knows that it was there, she thinks she knows who it belongs to. I imagine there will be an interesting dicussion when they ride home, but sadly I won't be there to record it.

The plane was due 10 minutes ago. It's just as well that it isn't yet here - I'm trying to finish Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It's very good, and I don't care to be interrupted just yet.

By the time the flight from Salt Lake City lands, I have not only finished the novel but have also eaten an entire bag of over-priced potato chips.

Jada gets off the plane first. I run over to her, surprised that Davy isn't with her. She greets me, and asks me to accompany her to the luggage claim. I avoid the obvious question, and I think she is grateful.

On the way over, she tells me about Sydney and how she was particularly impressed with the Opera House. She is now considering a career as an architect. She grabs her suitcase, and tells me that she's going to catch a taxi. Then she's gone.

So I return to the terminal, the guitar strap still across my chest, dragging a suitcase across the floor. Davy's waiting. He looks neither cheerful or depressed, but a quiet, passive neutral. You couldn't read a thing from his face.

"How long?" I ask by way of greeting.

"Three days ago."

His voice is a relief. He sounds slightly upbeat. "And who is at fault?"

"Me, myself, and maybe Irene. It was going to happen anyway. Chemistry died." He takes his guitar, and hauls the suitcase out to his car. It's a junker, and an ugly one at that. Have you seen that episode of the Simpsons where Homer tries to steal Moe's car? It has a big pink flower on it. Davy thought the episode was asinine, but he humored me and let me paint a matching flower on his car. It stands out like a puke-green sore thumb.

So we ride home in silence, the Beatles singing of Yesterday and Yellow Submarines and Fools on the Hill.

Tomorrow never knows.
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Current Mood: confusedconfused
Current Music: "things we said today" by the beatles