Heading back to the city of price,
An oasis for riches and losing it all, inhibitionless and dated smoke clouds drift between the flashing lights over tacky carpets. The obsurdist opulence of the facade, predetermined odds and the odd people milling about in endless anticipation, expectations never met, throwing it all away for a chance at satiation.
And I, a studious one, head to study some more, there for the payday, not to play. Learning skills that will pay for themselves over and over. Back on the hamster wheel I’ve run before, from the ice cold rain to the desert sun and back again, on the plain plane straining to keep myself occupied when I should be sleeping. Leaving my slumbering family as I sneak out in the night to take flight; give me a week, then I’ll sneak back in again.
To be honest I love and hate to fly.
The thrill of the takeoff and landing are hard to beat, but the hours in between strapped to a chair, on the cusp of sleeping but too uncomfortable to. Staring out and the top of the clouds as they read the safety again as the clouds roll on by they explain the emergency the clouds seatbelt the clouds life jacke clou seatbel.... Amazing to think back to when flying was new and exciting and rare, not just a sky bus with little pretzels.
