The Airportline: Observations

And we sit in bars and talk about the smell in Brussels, and the music is louder than it should and the walls resemble a construction site. And we drink beer cause it matches the interior, the well used sofas with the history of unspoken things forgotten about the morning after, of people meeting and learning, of people fighting and finding a common ground, a place where beer stained thoughts have been produced. And there are people from different parts of the world and this night we are here, in one place, and it’s a presence that we don’t think about even though the uniqueness of it will be apparent to all of those that stayed where we came from, in the towns of local culture, from the neighborhood areas where everyone knew everything. And the drums of a punk band we don’t care about crashes over the conversation and we lean forward, yelling in each other’s ears cause we say things that need to be said, and we have no time to wait for the punk music to stop assaulting us with drums. And some people go and smoke cigarettes and we keep sitting, throwing down the chilling smooth beer in our glasses that sweat on the wooden table where so many other beers have been sweating before.