From Bliss She Will Fall by P3T3R-KURT3N-GROUPI3
Tuesday, December 22, 2009:
Normally O’Hare is business-like, with men and women scurrying about. Today it’s packed with holiday travellers in good spirits. Security lines are long but friendly.
A tall, slender, 25-ish male with wrap-around sunglasses strides past. With an effeminate gait, his arms are somewhat out-stretched and seemingly float up and down. His shoulder bag is a reddish-brown and his fingernails are painted cyan-blue.
I sit at a counter and intend to order a Chicago-style hot dog. The withered 60-ish woman sitting next to me slams down beers.
My overweight, 40-something Mexican bartender/server ignores me and takes orders from new arrivals standing behind me. I finally shout my order to him.
The other bartender/server is a 60-ish Vietnam veteran with a huge stomach. His stomach spills over his belt, causing the white lining of his pants to be exposed above the belt. He tells an active duty soldier, young, tall, and trim, the nuances of dropping bombs from slow-flying aircraft.
Is one looking at his past? The other, his future?
I receive the below joking email on my Blackberry phone from a new acquaintance:
“I’m at O’Hare and my flight has been delayed twice. I’ve had 3 hours of sleep and my socks are wet and I just saw a married man I’ve been dating **With His Family**. Please tell me your not flying United because I might just have to take you in the damn bathroom and blank your brains out ’cause I’m so frustrated right now. I need a *RELEASE*! Is that a crime? Kissssses my Lover, xOxOxO.
*I’m praying for your family* God bless you, Mike Seneca.”
Seneca responds in her spirit:
“I’m on an American flight and am frantically trying to get my flight changed to United!”
Seneca thinks to the trip ahead.
He’s headed to the desert
to ask his mother
to come home
to die.




















