when the death of your civilization precedes you

3) Slouching towards Mecca

The foreign man stood in front of the terminal waiting for his plane to touch down. A flight attendant with brown hair pulled back tight against her head walked up to him. She was an employee for Delta and kept ten pairs of adhesive wings in her left pocket at all times. The wings created a slight bulge on her hip. She did not like this.

"May I help you find something, sir?" she asked the man. She was nervous because the man was standing instead of sitting and more importantly because he was brown.

"No, I am just waiting. Thank you," he returned. This did nothing to settle the nerves of the flight attendant. She thought horrible things: gum stick arson, pant leg shotgun.

"Okay." The flight attendant was clearly shaken. The foreign man felt sick. He looked at his watch and left the terminal. He walked down a wide hallway toward a magazine stand to get a bottle of water and a packet of gum. From the ceiling of the hallway hung flags of almost every country he could think of. The biggest one was one that had been centered at the end of the hallway back by his terminal. It was the flag for the United States of America. As he went down the hall, he saw adults staring at him. Some just kept their eyes wide; others let their mouths purse up and turn away quickly.

The foreign man walked back to the terminal and stood in his original spot. He uncapped the bottle of water and took it all in one long, satisfying gulp. He set the bottle down and upon raising himself back upright spied a couple watching his movements. He felt like an animal at a zoo. He felt like the new kid in school. He still felt sick.

A voice over the intercom rang thru the terminal telling the passengers that the flight to Boston would be delayed two hours. The voice apologized. The foreign man looked around and decided he could not wait for the plane.

One hour later, things were different. Things were different, and the foreign man did not feel sick.

4) “Dude, I have a blog. You have to see it. It’s really sick.”

“What kind of stuff do you post on there?”

“Just like….all types a random shit.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Oh shit, and I’m doing this writing contest too. Its gonna be really sick. Everyone pays like 5 bucks to enter it and then the winner gets like, however much money there is after everyone enters. Dude, you should be in it.”

“Fuck. I’m down. Here’s 5 bucks, I’m gonna grab another beer.”

“Will you grab me a shot of SoCo?”

“No.”