The airport was a mess of people, blinking and yawning and rubbing their eyes and doing all the other things that tired people often do. Customs was a drag that never ended until finally it did, belching Tom out into a official country. Home.

  He’d been away for months, living another life that seemed so alien to him now, separated only by the fourteen hour flight and ten thousand kilometres. When you put it like that Tom mused absently. He’d managed to nap somewhere over the Pacific and consequently he was a bit more with it than the rest of passengers, managing to spot his luggage without much trouble and rolling it through into the arrivals lobby.

  There was a modest turnout for the JA2027 flight and Tom picked out the stereotypes of teary-girlfriend and parents of a student Tom guessed he would judge far too young to study abroad.Amidst the small crowd stood a group Tom recognized, roughly his age, looking tired and bored, a placard resting near their legs that when Tom tilted his head ninety degrees read GAY TOM.

  Good to be home.

Dedicated to my good friend GAY TOM, who is coming  home today. I’m off to meet him at the airport in a couple of hours (thus delaying my book ever so slightly (it’s out TONIGHT!!)) sadly the pickup will most probably be made sans-placard.


~ by Joseph Blame on December 6, 2010.

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