Waking up, early in the morning, in the middle of the night. Sitting in the bus to the airport, the lights flashing through your eyes closed. This one hour coach as a one hour sleep. And the 5 am cigarette, the one you ask yourself why.
The fog in your eyes that wouldn't go, the one you hold on to until you're back to bed.
This guy is on the phone giving the gate number to his friend late to embark, saying he'll hold the gate for him like a subway train closing it's doors. Only two hours sleep, the one that gives you the shits and makes you feel dead already. And the gate to Venicio has closed and these people are red, late and crying for a christmas plane they've missed. As if the holdiays and christmas are not emotional already.
There is this guy, with a 6 year old kid and a 1 year old. His wife exhausted and red, they just missed the gate to venise, he holds his head in his hands and decompresses, the level of stress he must have been since waking up, knowing already they were fucked and trying to run against the clock with two kids and a fat wife slowing him down. If alone, he would have made it easily, he wouldn't even be there already. Now it's just regrets as he looks at his youngest, his tiny hand on the window outside the gate to the airplane, looking at the one he won't embark on.