I Hate Missing You.

Captain's on the intercom, he says death is calling.
Sold my soul for rock and roll, I never even played a guitar.

Lights out, headed for the cityscapes descending for the after life.
The oxygen mask falls between my legs.
We're going down in flames so quickly.
My pulse is racing and I just can't call it quits.
And we're all bound for the floor, put my knees to my head.

Lights out, headed for the cityscapes descending for the after life.
The oxygen mask falls between my legs.
And I'm not ready to go out just yet.
I'm laughing to myself, thinking that everything is riding on the line.

Lyric credit: Lights Out by The Scenic
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There was not an inch of space on either side of me. The two people sandwiching me, neither smelling particularly good, had obviously never heard of personal space. I was riding the monorail within the Atlanta Airport. Why I had decided to take the flight plan with a layover in the busiest airport in the country, I had no idea. My layover was just about an hour but at the rate I was moving through the sea of people I would be lucky to get to the gate before they did the last call.

I adjusted the strap of my computer bag on my shoulder and darted forward, seeing a slight break in the crowd. I was never one to travel alone. In fact I hated traveling at all. Normally I avoided all forms of public transportation, preferring a long car ride by my lonesome to any amount of time shared too closely with a stranger.

© dirt whispered. 2010