I must have fallen asleep without knowing it, knowing better than to fall asleep in the corridor of a 24 hour parking garage at 2:45 in the morning...but I did, nonetheless.
He was about a body's length away, swishing his shoes against the ground as he walked...a man I instantly and subconsciously named, Holy Shit. I leapt to my feet, drowsy, trying to figure from which side the shank strike would come. It didn't. Instead, he pulled a cigarette, lit it with shaking hands.
"Fucking cold out there, man."
Yeah, it certainly was. And not just cold, but angry. Every room save the 500 Euro suites at the Meridian were full. In most cities, the major train stations are open all night. I've found, as I did in Munich, that though they have some glaring holes in terms of accommodative quality, they more than suffice as a means to burn off hours waiting to jump ship to a new city.
Well, in Brussels...they close. And in Brussels, I found myself wandering, trying to find remotely safe places to read or write through the early hours of a new day...
Which delivers us to the point from which we began. I quickly discovered the impossibility of reading through an entire night on determination alone. It takes fear...and a compilation of such I would soon meet. I pulled a dip on Holy Shit, still reeling, and emerged from the parking garage into the face of a fight. Usually, I would stay and watch...pick the underdog and secretly root. But this was too much. After all, I had had no time for collection. It was delirium...then a flurry of blows, one after another.
My eyes shot through the scene, tried to settle mind on the next move when I noticed lights on top of their cars. Cabbies, crazed cabbies. They weren't drunk or drugged...at least that much credit I'll partially give. Finally, a moment of ease. Their confrontation faded after a punchless tussle over the cons of interplanetary warfare(likely, do I speak like I speak Belkriesch?). Soon after, Holy Shit emerged from my nest. I watched as he walked into a nearby park, took a piss and continued his pilgrimage(again, likely). I walked back into the tunnel, took a cold seat on the tiled ground and read and spilled ink for the next four hours.
...
The next day...or later that day, depending on your consideration, I found hell on Earth. Charleroi Airport. They call it Brussels south, which would be like calling yourself 100 pounds when you actually tip scale at 145...as if you could somehow justify that as a round down.
Thinking I could get an earlier flight out of town, I showed up 12 hours early...and would end up sitting there for 12 hours as the cattle calls of cheap flight fliers stormed through the terminal. Sometimes, for half hours at a time, I would drop head on my backpack and fall asleep. When I would wake up with knowing and glaring impressions across my face, I would stare at stare-ers with eyes, "What? I was born with this you inconside...find a mirror, YOU made THAT." I was steamed. It didn't matter that the airport music was pulled from the John Hughes' greatest hits soundtrack...however the fuck that came to be. I'd had enough of Belgium, this sweet country and experience I knowingly elected to turn on its head...again. Yes, the re-appearing themes here are glaring.
When the ticket agent stepped to the podium, the masses erupted. If ever you want to create lawlessness, simply don't assign seats to passengers. It was a perfect portrait of this place...Hell on Earth, yet on this day, it didn't even begin to scratch surface.
I gave in, stepped up. And in that unexpected moment where I joined the ranks of anarchy, I was saved. Saved by Sinead O'Connor...
"It's been so lonely without you here. Since you took your love away. Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah..."
I closed my eyes and imagined, against the dark backdrop of her video...singing with Sinead. Nothing compares to me, Sinead? I know this. She would sing to me and I her. We would share notes and she would, at first, think it adorable...my insistence to play with her bald head. Midway through the second verse, she would grow angry and storm off the set. I would be left there with no Sinead...the lights shining down...the cameras still rolling...the-
I opened my eyes. Window seat. One of the last ones on the plane. Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff...
Time to move me the fuck on.
