The Airportline: Observations

And the fuss ball table is occupied with similar people like us, and sometimes we look at them, not because we care about the score, or because we think it is so cool that there is fuss ball playing going on behind our well crafted backs, but because it's life, and if life plays fuss ball, we will look sometimes. We sit with our student characterized small hunches coming from too many hours in front of the computer reading poorly phrased academic journals. And it is a romantic picture for those without this option, for the people that stopped getting to know more people, for the people that choose safety before experience, and comfort before the wonders of a life not staying on the beaten path, but for us it’s just Saturday and beer.

And we exchange small phrases with the people we don’t know but we really don’t care that much. Maybe it’s the constant movement, the constant up-rooting that is the reason for the lack of interaction. But it’s ok cause if there is someone special, someone that speaks your language without speaking, then the option to be more involved is there. And I go and get beer at the bar, and pass people in their 50s shake their head to the music. They look like people that have lived life without the easiness and healthiness of the people we left around where we grew up. And why is it so that this often is seen as a negative thing? As if aging from experience is something which should be avoided at all costs, as if the quest to not look old is more important than to live so that your age is not something detached from you, but is you. A personality that has a beauty which many people fail to see.

And I see women in my own age, with a smooth skin and energetic hairstyles and eyes that shoot stars. This might be and Arcade Fire song. And all the experience logic I just presented falls out of my head and blends with the beer stained wooden floor. I stand a few centimeters from the bar where the bartender cleans the beer glasses which we will soon drink out of. And the change from my five euro bill is soaked with beer, we are all soaked in beer, it’s effects floating around in our minds with a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere, on tables filled with the foam that pulsate out of the glass when they are handed from the bartender's wet hands, the same hands I mentioned previously in this sentence. And people are still playing fuss ball, and the old people that look their age are still dancing and life is still moving, heading to unknown places with or without you. That might be a U2 song.