I don’t really have an acquit to go on foot alone anymore, and I miss it.
I miss the seasons when I’d bar in for a soaring and let my eyes gad about around the staying area at the gate, trying to conjecture who my station-mate would be. I always hoped I’d make a dear companion, yet still asked for a window station, so I could stare out the window instead of having an unwanted conversation if my neighbor turned out to be a dud, which is what usually happened. I always got paired with the most unappealing colleague, one whose material substance mass?—?or, worse, smell?—?would spread more than the arm quiescence into my district. Even then, it was something to scrawl about, to chuckle 0ver silently.
The best conversation always turns out to be the dialogue you have with yourself.
