Thwack.
Thwack. Thwack. THWACK. The thin, high pitched wailing of at least 7 different tiny tortured souls causes my eyelids to flutter, but I struggle to stay under. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. THwack. ThWAK. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. As my head bounces off the window again, I am jolted out of a neck twisting doze, blinking against fluorescent lighting and cringing as the sound of crying babies seems to increase. As I’m thrown forward again, I am sorely tempted to reach back and grab the tiny demon legs that continue to beat into the back of my chair. |
AuthorThere is something about sitting for hours on endless planes, trains and chicken busses that inspires the written word. Here are some examples of said inspiration. Archives
August 2014
CategoriesWant more?
|