The morning was rough. I got to the airport a little after five and had a horrible Americano at Starbucks that made me question my leaving town. (Carlitos, ftw!) As I sipped on that vile concoction, John, the counter attendant came over the PA like Adrian Cronauer from Good Morning Vietnam... "Goooooooood Morning Halifax!!! We're going to start boarding you people and get you on your way to sunny Hawa... oh, no. Sorry, you're going to Toronto. Ok, then, lets do it." His enthusiam did not impress the sleepy crowd.
The first in a long series of planes was an experience. I didn't qualify that with any positive or negative descriptors, because it was simply an experience. The sun was starting to come up over the tarmac and the sky was purple. I looked down on the lights of Halifax as we flew over, searching for home from above and already missing Nibbler and SB terribly.
The woman next to me (though the middle seat was empty) was fucking sick. She was trying to hide it, hoping in vain that no one would notice under her poorly stiffled coughs and hacks.
Before landing in Toronto, I watched as Niagra Falls passed below the plane. I looked very small.
One last note for this entry:
People I Fucking Hate as of 8am, November 9th -
People who pretend that they aren't sick
Young men in pristine cowboy hats
People who have that naturally snooty look to them
Jerks who wear evening gowns and heels on the plane, as well as the ones who have to strip off all their shit at security, like they didn't anticipate that that metal belt and those complicated boots would set off the buzzer.
More real soon.
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