The Airportline: Observations

Two hours and ten minutes. Its a short trip between Valencia and Amsterdam. But long. I cannot write cause I have been doing it. On paper, in notebooks. I've taken a shower and my skin is screaming. I'm listening to music cause my ears are bleeding. I'm back in normal temperatures. Back among the green, the water, the drunk tourists, the soberly dressed Amsterdamers, the bikes with bells. There are no more slow waking people hiding from the afternoon sun, no motorbikes that cry on their way up the hills. The is no sound of the ocean. There is now and that is the only place you can be. And Frightened Rabbit are singing that it takes more than fucking someone you dont know to keep yourself warm. That might not be a novel thing for you, my dear reader, but it might be worth thinking about. When the summer sun is setting. When you have moved two hours and ten minutes. North.