The Terminal

I never saw that Tom Hanks movie, but if that terminal was anything as dystopic as the terminal I’m in right now — Heathrow — then I can only imagine how horribly depressing that movie was. I was considering going into central London today, but it’s rainy and it took an extra two-something hours to transfer from Gatwick to Heathrow, so I felt like I was being told to stay put.

Of course, that god is a malevolent and wrathful god, who loves nothing more than to look down upon me and mock. This mall that I’m in right now is absolutely an undiscovered circle of hell. It seems nice — there’s beer and smoked salmon and perfume and beautiful people from all over the world — but then you realize that you (and most everyone else) smells like stale ass and morning breath.

Oh well. I had a nice lunch, with probably the last batch of fresh greens I’ll have for a while.


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