one que after another

That's what airports are. One long line after another. If you're not in line for security, you're in line to try and get rid of the last of your foreign money. Heathrow is one of the world's busiest airports and yet I managed to run into someone I knew. Off in the distance I could hear, "Hi Jill." Like a distant echo, it repeated. Vaguely familiar, never associated with myself until someone grabbed my arm and the words made their way through the layers of protective strategies to block out the many many sounds around me. We ended up taking the same flight but I didn't see her again until 9 hours into attempts to entertain myself resulted in a wander around the strange creature hurtling us though the upper atmospheres of travel. I was standing in another que, this one for a bathroom when I saw her sitting a few rows back, and waved.

I'm home. Clothes which I now resent strewn around the floor. Gifts and parcels long ago bought unpacked and Ruby petted, the boyfriend revisited.

xoxo
Jill