The day starts as any other, except for the fact that I can't concentrate.The day starts as any other, except for the fact that I can't concentrate. It's been a long haul for this software I'm developing and the stress of overtime has taken it's toll on me. The time passes very slowly as I mold this design into shape. I can't wait until 2:30 rolls around. As I pass the day, I continually open this one drawer in my desk, and stare at your picture on the desk hutch. The picture is one of your devilish smiles and reveals a part of you which is undeniably fantastic. In the drawer is a plane ticket to Boston. The flight leaves at 4:30, with a connection in Detroit at 5:15. I can't wait. Time finally passes and my boss tells me to have a good time as put on my jean jacket and head for the door. I beam and say "I will, definitely". I run out to the parking lot and hop into the car. The engine barks as I turn the key, and I let the clutch out quickly as the tires give that all too familiar chirp. I'm in motion, heading toward O'Hare. The usual speed on these excursions is about 90. I'm too wired and cannot slow down, I've got 800 miles to go today. Check-in at Northwest comes without a hitch, and I try to find a suitable magazine to read enroute. I pick up an issue of Playboy and head toward the gate. The plane is late (It's Northwest, remember?) and I sit back and stare out window at taxiway. I begin to daydream. I remember the nights we spent in your apartment with strawberries and whipped cream. The memories are so vivid I can smell the fresh strawberries. Yes, I can surely say I've never been obsessed by a woman like you before. And for good reason. I wake to a very fat woman drinking a large strawberry margarita and looking quite puzzled at me. I regain composure, nonchalantly adjust the tightening feeling in my shorts. Slowly, and without notice, I slip away. The speaker buzzes with the last call of my flight. I get to the gate, and board. The thing that gets me about airplanes is the feeling of being a sardine in a large aluminum can. Luckily the seats in my row are unoccupied. The plane bumps it's way down the runway, and with great force, lurches toward the sky. After the seatbelt light snuffs out I raise the armrests, raise my feet, and relax while cracking open the magazine I bought. |