breakin the law

It’s like I was high by the end of & Now– everything felt super-important and all the thinking I’d done about cw and race and queerness and form seemed to play out in the airport when I had to confront my own rage at being treated badly by an airline.  I wrote an inspired feeling blog post that thank god I looked at again in the light of having slept.  It featured a girl coming up to me at the airport– a girl I thought from her appearance and accent was African– sharing my plug at the “complimentary charging station.”  She was wearing a hell of an outfit: a white blouse with candy-pink swirls with a mermaid shaped taffeta skirt.  I was trying extra hard to be nice to people after having thrown my people magazine at the girl guarding the gate, and then felt like if I didn’t have it so good in this life I probably would not have felt so outraged, and why is this what outrages me, of all things in this world.  Girl said yes thanks. Then she says “are you going to be here a while?” and I said “I don’t know maybe” and she says “I’m gonna leave my phone here thanks.”  For a while sitting there, writing an insane blog post I will never post, it felt suspenseful and subversive to sit next to unattended baggage.  It was thrilling.  Breakin the law, breakin the law… screw you airport we’re all just people here! But then it was almost an hour and she hadn’t come back and I had never said I’d watch her stuff anyhow– gosh just rewriting this I’m getting caught up– why did this get at me so?  I wanted to be being gracious and then I was afraid I might be being exploited again– even though I was like, to myself, I did not agree to watch her stuff anyway I’m just not done charging and when I’m done I’ll go-–  true?  not true?  I dunno– and right when I was about to really go and leave her phone there she came back, nothing exploded nothing exploited.

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