Literary journal Cooper Street recently published my short story "The Hilton", a short piece about brain throbbing, eyeball awareness and other travel delights. Read the full story here!
9:04 PM. My flight was uneventful. No delays, no customs trouble, no luggage left behind. I wore my most comfortable airplane ensemble, repeatedly lathered my face with cream and hydrated constantly. Still, my brain feels swollen, throbbing numbly. A buzzing sound follows me across the airport terminal.
My glassy eyes will only focus the second after I squint them super hard, so I grind into them with my fists. I try to calculate how many hours I’ve been awake, but there’s a time difference I can’t figure out because I’ve been awake for however many hours it is I’m unable to calculate.
9:14 PM. In line at Avis Rent-A-Car. The light has the same sickly fluorescent glow now as at 4 AM, so even if my watch can tell what time it is, my body can’t. The only thing I’m really aware of is that my eyes are opened very widely. I stare at my green-hued reflection in the brown windows, blinking like an owl, until it’s my turn.
Who knows how long this takes—all of a sudden I’m facing a girl whose name I read off her tag and forget instantly. The light renders the color of her hair so drab I can’t put a name to it either. The girl asks me “Higoodeveninghowareyoutonightdidyouhaveaniceflight?”