The Space Inbetween

I think the strangest part of being at an airport is the artificiality (if that is a word) of the whole thing. Terminal, customs, boarding are, plane. The only daylight I'll be seeing is through the window of the plane. Odd how when going through customs you feel guilty, maybe that's just me being me though, dubious about any sort of authority. A series of robocops and terminators checking my passport, constantly suspicious "Is there anything in here that can be used as or considered a weapon..." "...well I suppose if you if you ball one sock inside another and swing it like a fabric mace..." Somehow I don't think my awkward humour will go down well with these people. I'm more intimidated by the logistics of air travel then I am by the whole of this journey. Sitting here it's that same feeling you get in hospitals, s'all white and sterilised yet somehow doesn't feel clean, same as that feeling except you've got more shit to buy. Forty Five minutes till gates due open. I keep thinking once I'm on the plane I'm done, just get off and go, departing's always quicker then arriving. Unfortunately not though, I gotta repeat the process again for another flight. the nightmare of hyper - organisation, of efficiency, time is money and can't be wasted; herd the cattle. I swear the process of of getting on a place reminds me of "Oh shit! Get to the escape pods!!!"