To my left: Gangsta boy, Adidas-clad w/ massive headphones, blue-green prison ink half-concealed by a long-sleeve undershirt, gothic lettering on the nape of his neck oddly resembles a bar-code from this angle and distance.
To my immediate left: Four ounces of instant coffee with granular sugar and cream (still visible afloat) pinning down a mapkin (cartographic wipe) and stained with the turbulence-induced overflow.
Below: El Paso, Lubbock, Odessa perhaps? Ants... grids of roadways and reservoirs that spark memories of abused toy trucks in a dirty childhood. I do not know my altitude; 4500 meters maybe, high enough that forests emulate mold growth on the wheat-roll crusted earth. The terrain shifts dryer and dryer as we speed over Texas, into New Mexico: outcroppings of ferritic rock appear like leprous blotches of eczema, replacing any and all vegetation.
So concludes twenty-one days visit with those I love, and so begins visits with those I also love, allbeit friends vs. family. The trip overall was, well, amazing but three weeks is a lot of time to be away from home living out of a duffel bag. This is a good time to reflect, and my mood is such that I am noticing beauty in everything around me.
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