I was thinking about liminal spaces when I wrote this. Traveling by plane is so routine that the novelty of being in the air has worn off. Now it is just another part of the destination. Most people do what they can to pass the time: sleep, watch movies, read. I enjoy taking the last flight home. Nights are quiet, and there is something magical about being the last person to leave the airport. It is like going to a party, but only the end, when everyone has left and the hosts are cleaning up.
10:32pm
We are flying at 24,000 feet and I am looking out the window into the black sky. I see nothing and nothing sees me. I might as well be a ghost
Yellow lights scattered like a cluster of stars. Surely there must be a sign of life somewhere
Begin approach
The lights in the cabin are off. I hear soft snores and static from headphones. Some people can sleep through anything
I have a row to myself. My feet are up and I am listening to the same songs on repeat. Her voice, I am reminded of someone
Window seat
The landing lights on the plane. More yellow lights. White lights. The city appears like an apparition
Symmetry. The dull hum of the engines. Gin and tonic water
A city in the darkness always looks so sad. I don’t see people but I see houses, cars, trees and buildings. The houses sit quietly in the shadows. The street lights illuminate the cars sitting against the curb. Beyond the houses lie the baseball fields. Empty
The game is over but the lights are still on. I think I can see one baseball lying in center field. I am a child of 10 and I am playing on the field after the game when everyone has left
Beyond the fields lie empty streets and empty office buildings. One car drives down the highway under the orange lights
No stars
Circles. The night time is for sleeping
Summer nights sitting on the sidewalk in the cul-de-sac looking at the stars. Find the Big Dipper and the Milky Way
Lonely planet. The stars don’t look different tonight. It’s just that no one notices them anymore
Final approach. People stirring. Life paused. Un-pause
Exiting the plane. Soft chatter. Bags from bins. Vacuums and floor polishers in the terminal. The stands are closed. Metal grates
A quiet walk along the sky bridge. Reflection in the windows. Expanse of white tile. Loved ones greet each other amidst tears of joy. Kisses and hugs. A ride home
The moving platform to the parking garage. Hot, dark, dusty, quiet. Cars everywhere. They say that outer space smells like burning metal
Fourth level. A building has stories. A parking garage has levels. Only one is for humans. I can see the skyscrapers downtown
Late night and no traffic. Noise from the radio. Volume level 4. I am sitting in the backseat of the family car driving home. Baker Street is playing on the radio, like it always does. The whining of the saxophone
My street with the big trees and the flowers. My parking space. Headlights against the window. Idling car
I look up. Still no stars. Light pollution
An empty apartment and a warm bed. From the window, a blue glow
11:57pm
A Walk Through The City 