It was a foolproof plan. Catch a flight, catch another flight, catch a bus, catch a train, take a taxi, each stage of the journey metamorphosing smoothly into the next like the colors on one of those just-past-trendy ombre shirts. Instead I’m sitting in a windowless Starbucks in the middle of the baggage claim swilling tap water and succumbing to the half-assed philosophizing that ambushes me when I’m hungry. I mean, really, is travel so very different from transfiguration? I shucked my worldly goods an airport ago (despite that $15 I paid you to keep track of my suitcase, American Airlines, you pigs). The future, in the form of the shuttle bus, abandoned me at the curb. My flesh may well follow suit if I go too many more hours without food. (Can you eat suitcases? Or will I need to resort to the Starbucks pastries?) And what is this distant yet encompassing white light?
Aha. Fluorescent bulbs.
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