Airport

Long view, a curving corridor. Cool, flatly obnoxious fluorescent lighting. The rush and stroll of travellers, workers, meaters and greeters. The white noise of head down, where's my papers, where's my gate, where's my kids as everyone tries to deal as little as possible with dealing with long overcrowded flights to places they hope they want to be.

Paused in an eddy of the flow, poised to spring forward and shuffle like the rest of the lemmings to my date with destiny, or at least destination.

Bored, could be drunk, but exhausted by the stink of beer, my own stale sweat and breath, the last remaining cigarettes smoked, my clandestine activity on these trips, exhausted. Am I sated? Satisfied? I must be.

Becausee I'm sipping water in a mini-veal-fattening pen. Imported from china, its comforting fabric walls refuge for the business traveller. Post a generic shot of the kids in one corner and bang, you're home.