Home Sweet Airport

Written on the Yesterday:

I spent a lot of time in an airport today.
An airport seems like it'd be a neat place to stow away.
You know what I mean by 'stow away.'
Because you've probably read a book or two by now.
It's much like the rats on the merchant ships, or Leonardo DiCaprio on the Titanic.
You live there.
You eat whatever food you can scavenge.
You swim around in the casks of beer and molasses.
I often fantasized about stowing away in buildings.
Hide and go seek in the school, for example.
An insight into the stretches of my imagination.
I'd fantasize about hiding out in a building I spent 30 hours a week in already.
Did you guys ever do this?
Maybe not.
Maybe that was just an activity for the weird, youngest-of-the-family children.
Anyway, I thought about stowing away at the airport.
Seemed cool at first:
Playing dress-up with clothing discovered in the Lost & Found bin.
Taking naps on the luggage carousel.
Getting loaded with your buddies on booze from the Duty Free shop ("No tax!") and then throwing stuff through the security gates to see what sets them off.
"Hey, let's try a toaster next!
Where can we find a toaster in this place?"
"No, Doug's watch! I say we throw Doug's watch through there!"
 But now I'm not so sure the airport would be that fun.
First of all, you have to contend with constant strangers dirtying your floors and touching your stuff.
Mummers are one thing, but come on...
Also, besides the planes and the taxidermy'd Leopard, the airport is rather boring.
After checking out Sara Rostoski's portrait display, and watching SpongeBob in the sunken ship, there isn't much to do.
I had a former lover tell me that she didn't wish to be my current lover in that sunken ship once.
Lastly, baggage guys swear a lot.
Which I learned while I was seated adjacent a table of them.
Now it just doesn't seem like a healthy place to one day raise a family.

So it's today now.
I'm at my parents' house.
It's the same as it was for those two years that I recently spent here.
Except that there are more chips now.
Because I haven't eaten them all yet.
Robert's going to Christan his baby soon.
Victoria Mary Elizabeth Shandera.
Peter is going to be the godfather.
My job is to make sure no one parks in front of the priest's van, blocking him in.
On the day of his daughter's wedding, I'm going to ask Peter the godfather for a favour:
That he jam an orange slice in his mouth and chase me around the yard.