Window Seat, Please

I walk. Either to school or to the bathroom or to the end of the line. I drive. Whether it’s to work, to the supermarket or to the hospital. I sit. In front of the television, in front of the computer, in front of the world.

Passports should be dilapidated and dog-eared. Tan lines should be erratic and the hat you’re wearing should announce where you’ve been or where you’re about to go.

I go to work and I forget. I forget there’s a magnificent and mysterious world on the other side of a boarding pass. It now occurs to me that what makes travel “so hard to do” is making the decision to do it.

I love the taste of American convenience and a full refrigerator, a clean bathtub and wide, open, paved streets. Appreciation for the choices, fortune and beauty of America is never as full-blooded until I return home from somewhere far away.

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One response to “Window Seat, Please

  1. Id rather live in Cuba, all the drugs you want, on every corner.
    Prostitution is a respected profession and,
    best of all, you can enjoy a meal without having to gaze upon
    all the fat asses turning your stomach or filling up the emergency room
    because they don’t take care of themselves!!
    Then again, it’s anarchy so, hmm let me think about it?
    Glad your back by the way Mister 🙂

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