The Terminal

I stepped out of the plane and into the airport...and it was too late.

...Moments later, just walking by, and he asked me "Come on, you over 18?" said the black man in a red-collared shirt. And I smiled sweetly, "Yes, but no thanks." And slowly I pulled away--I had nowhere to hurr to and I knew he'd ask me again when I turned around at the end of the tunnel. I smiled to myself, "Free flight, yah right. I know how you work, and nothing is free--try as you may though, I shall not yield to you, tempter." I kept walking in a daze. What else could I do? Time stood still, I knew the seconds were passing just like they were yesterday. But everthing seems funny today. I muse through the shops and wonder where I am...Is Cincinnati in Ohio or Kentucky!? Is this Heaven or Hell?! Everything inside me says Ohio, but everything outside me is labeled Kentucky--shirts, hats, it's on the wall: "Kentucky" in fancy cursive writing. Where am I?! Ah, yes! Contact from the outside world--a text, something I dread and dislike at any other time but now it comes as a comfort to know that life is moving on outside of this place--and I check my watch again--times keeps passing, but I don't feel it.

It seems as if no one new has come here since I entered, and I wonder if I'll make it out--fears of missing my flight, after having had a 4 1/2 hour layover and no people around at all--and it's all so funny. Where am I?! And I walk the corridors--Coffee and McDonals are taking over and the old man driving the cart comes around again, and everyone else is in a daze too. "River's Edge Gallery"..."Bath and Body"..."Borders"..."Jewelers"...Where am I!? This place--it's just a port--a place to pass through, but hte little lady runs her cutesy shop here and lives the days of her life here. The man gone on business too often buys his jewelery of appeasement here. The little old lady sits in the massage chair--reading, not getting a massage. Where is everyone else? Does anyone fly on Wednesdays?! Where am I?!

There's nothing human here--and the man ont he TV keeps talking about Obama and off shore drilling--I do not trust that man, Obama now speaking. We're all turning into machinistic humans...And people look oddly at me as I write, instead of type.

When will I ever leave this place?! It's outside my control--and even when I think I'm to leave, it could still change. I sit at a cubby to write and the sign says "RECHARGE"--and it has a plug in for a computre. What about me? ...lies...everywhere...lies on all sides--we take better care of our products than we do of ourselves. All conversation I had this morning seems like dreams...Did Sam really drive me to the airport? Did Jake really call? Did I really talk to Amanda?

The lenght of the tunnel and the fiber glass windows everhwere--it's keeping the life out. And a woman walks around in all black with a red hat--and she got in here. I think they only let the dead in--only the dead can pass security. Maybe I died?...they checked my ID and bid me good day...and I'm getting no texts anymore...and the black man will ask me again, and wants to give me gifts. Can you get gifts when you're dead? It's a slow day in purgatory today--I was new...and I'm supposed to be leaving soon, but will I get out?!

That song is playing on the radio again and nothing else is moving--Maybe this is what it's like...everything around me inside is artificial, not human, and the voice over plays again warning me of "the humans"--those who place things in my bags, and they are going to search and take care of my bags if anything human comes near it. But there's still something in me human--and I can see it outside too--where am I?! Ohio or Kentucky?! Well--either way, it's too late. I already bought my ticket.