Reading and travel.

I really did mistime my travel plans and ended up with a couple of hours to kill before the flight home. I hadn’t brought headphones or my kindle (the usual standbys), so bought a book. A penguin classic, the best little orange and white ones that don’t cost forty bucks. It was only 160 pages and i had devoured it, cover to cover, right on touchdown in Brisbane; brought sharply out of that beautiful reverie, that trance that is a story by the wheels gripping tarmac with a whole body shudder.
I love to read a book like that, furiously and as a distraction to life around, so that i learn quickly just how to fold and cease the binding to my will, broken into the shape of how l read it. pages bent and dog eared, abused by interest and crusted in pretzel dust. I just wish I’d spilt a great mess of chicken parme sauce to sign the destruction my reading tore from those pages, licked half clean in a futile attempt to either save face or make out what that word is smeared in red.

by PorridgeTooFar