Features:
- Houston’s second-largest commercial airport
- International Air Transport Association airport code: HOU
- International Civil Aviation Organization airport code: KHOU
- Elevation: forty-two feet
- Statues of George H. W. Bush: zero
I was thinking of the mundanity of the airport but what’s mundane is me. Anything can happen at the airport. I’m there a lot. I drove into the city this morning from Long Island, the sea, to traverse to the desert, Marfa, Texas, and it’s basically an eleven-hour journey. I deny it but it’s true. There’s no direct flight to El Paso, there’s lousy connections, today’s is formidable—sitting here for three hours at Hobby, then driving three hours to get to Marfa. And my truck is busted in the parking lot so we’re not going to go there yet. No, not at all.
This three-hour layover is the easy part. I am in the long nothing of the journey. The gate’s right over there amazingly and I’m different every time I get to the airport. I’m always somebody else.
Today what that means is that I shop. Arrived here and “I” felt great. A friend texted as I marched happily through the arcade of the airport. We were having a pleasant exchange and meanwhile I’d already begun fingering a poufy orange travel pillow at XpresSpa. Why do I like this pillow so much. Well, it can be a shoulder pillow, a desk, a chair, and at least two other things. It’s orange, my favorite color, and it’s five dollars less TODAY ONLY. I’m thinking this is a very special way I can meditate on the road, and I love to meditate. I mean, sort of. Will I get arrested if I meditate at the airport? I don’t know. I haven’t bought it yet. I head to the bathroom after fingering it greedily to the saleswoman’s delight. I’ll be back I assure her as I sail into the bright beige and black “ladies’ room” where I pee if I’m female, take a leak if I’m male, then wash my face, get real, and back out still texting with my friend about our great lives and then I buy the pillow. The guy at the opposite counter in the spa smilingly asks will you buy me one. He’s nice so I respond in a friendly manner, but what does it mean when a man who works at the place asks a female customer to “buy him one.” What’s the joke. Am I getting a mommy vibe.
I look adventurously down the concourse and I see Peet’s. I love Peet’s. Don’t we love Peet’s cause it’s not Starbucks? I’m hungry but I go to Peet’s first....
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