The airport in San Juan is a fine, modern thing, full of bright colors and suntanned people and Latin rhythms blaring from speakers hung on naked girders above the lobby. I walked up a long ramp, carrying my topcoat and my typewriter in one hand, and a small leather bag in the other. The signs led me up another ramp and finally to the coffee shop. As I went in I saw myself in a mirror, looking dirty and disreputable, a pale vagrant with red eyes.

Hunter S.


(Had contact lenses fitted and can't really see properly. Great, when one works in an office. Anticipating a brilliant onslaught of migraine to hit anytime now. I'm quite fond of wearing glasses, but surfing with specs...? And surfing must be, when one goes on honeymoon.)
posted by charlotte at 15:28 - comment