Departure Hall Booth-girls and E.R doctors
Time floats by diferently while sitting in the booth. It is swallowed up in chunks, in gulps. Your day does not tick in minutes but rumbles by as busses. You measure your day, your days, your life even, in departures, turning the booth itself a metaphor in a way.
I doubt that you have to be as priveleged and booth blessed as I to do the same.
Day 5 (FIVE) of morning shift and I'm getting tired of shady looking men staring at me with their sticky eyes while silently passing by. You can see a trace of disappointment in their eyes - the kind of hurt but cautiously hopeful look that only comes with the realization that not all girls in booths spontaneuosly throw all their clothes off and start pumping their thighs in time with the bass-beat of Gunther's "You touch my tra-la-la".
Though I wouldn't mind a fiver or two, once in a while.
I doubt that you have to be as priveleged and booth blessed as I to do the same.
Day 5 (FIVE) of morning shift and I'm getting tired of shady looking men staring at me with their sticky eyes while silently passing by. You can see a trace of disappointment in their eyes - the kind of hurt but cautiously hopeful look that only comes with the realization that not all girls in booths spontaneuosly throw all their clothes off and start pumping their thighs in time with the bass-beat of Gunther's "You touch my tra-la-la".
Though I wouldn't mind a fiver or two, once in a while.
