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part 10 of The Modern Hero

The doors open. Airport carpet still smells like freedom.
Breathed it so deep your first flight out
You can't forget that
Your eyes burn. Automatic
Your lids open. You look back, not in anger
Seeing yourself there, angles draped against the customs counter
Greeting the stewards in dresses
who chirruped, bright birds at the dawn of opportunity.
When you walked these hound's-tooth carpets once, you wore that same brightness, the compelling arrogance, of a child in command of your destiny

Something important was waiting for you
or so you thought. A boarding call.

May 2010

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