The dry air inside aircrafts burns my throat and dehydrates my skin to oil, coated with dust. What relief to step out of the cab in front of my building; how welcome a hot shower. After two and a half weeks away and twenty hours of return travel, home is quiet and familiar. The beds in France were comfortable but returning home to my own is a sleeping pill in itself. I succumb.My friend and travel companion deemed his underarm shields' performance a success, except he missed one that the laundry chewed up and spat out during the dry cycle.
Answering-machine messages were upbeat; new friends want to catch up, an invitation to Thanksgiving, and happy tones. The last message, unfortunately, was confirmation that the family member from the blowup will remain righteous, probably until the end, wearing a victim’s mask and hiding behind doors of religion at its worst.- PJ