petermarcus | (no subject)

Boston. I landed and walked out of the airport and the smell of the sea hit me full in the face. It isn't always this way -- usually Boston Logan smells like any other airport; half-burned kerosene and warm concrete. But sometimes the wind blows from the east, and the smell of New England overpowers everything else. Lately the smell of the New England ocean reminds me a bit of the Southern California Pacific. But a bit of childhood and adulthood in New England trumps everything else, and the mere whiff of cold water kelp and shellfish can bring it all rushing back.

I scored the upgrade, and the first class flight attendant handed me my dinner and I thanked her. "Look at me again," she said. I raised my eyebrows. "Has anyone ever mentioned how blue your eyes are?" she said. I'm a bit surprised; they're not that blue, really. Nice ego stroke though. After the last couple weeks, I'll take it.