Taking advantage of a few moments of free wifi to send a dispatch from the gate. My last flight lasted 11 hours, but took almost exactly 24. 

It brings to mind a terrible movie AND a poem by Dylan Thomas. Don’t worry, no spoilers here. 

I slept a lot on the plane, I think. Or else the hours passed in half sleep. I read a bit about the teaching of poems. I knit an inch of sock ribbing. I drank a small bottle of terrible Australian white wine (I’d asked for red, but the emirates flight attendants are so polished, I was loathe to correct even this small mistake.) The frittata was terrible. The terminal glittered and stank of leather and perfume—duty free.


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