Some people look forward to coming home. I am not one of those people. Life is much simpler and more interesting away from home. I like the idea of home as an anchor, but I would prefer that somebody else own it. Home is where the bills are delivered. It is where your wife says she wants a divorce. It is where they come to serve the summons, to cut off the gas. It is where the lawn needs to be mown.
Away from home is all wildness and adventure. It is the place where the receptionist places everything on the corporate tab and allows you to check out at three. It is the place where the beautiful bartender buys your drinks all evening. It is the place where you get the best table in the house for six without a reservation. It is where they give you more than you should get in all ways, in all things. It is the place of privileging.
The cab ride to the airport was the portal home. My rasta cabbie regaled me with rap at top volume as the bass tore up the cheap, frayed speakers. The plane was late in arriving, so once we boarded, we sat for forty minutes waiting for the connecting luggage to arrive. Without air conditioning. The family in front of me was loud and obnoxious. The stewardess didn't come with the drinks. On a direct flight, for a fee, the airline sent my bag to the wrong city. The cab ride home was worse. The gas had been turned off so I couldn't cook. And after falling asleep, there was a pounding on the door. Two o'clock. My baggage had arrived.
I was not nice. I was worse than not nice. I was aggressive. Vicious.
Now, without hot water to wash the dishes, without gas for cooking, I leave my messy house to go back to the factory where I will suffer the same horrors I left behind last week. You know the deal. You and I are the same. It is like that.
And so I post this photo today. Life a drag, perhaps I will open up a portrait studio. I could make money rather than spend it. That would be the life.
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