AUA

Ocean for miles, it never ends. I fall asleep and each time I wake up there is more ocean, stretching to infinity and glittering, dotted with clouds the kind that make you think of cotton candy, or bouncing sheep. One time there was a cargo ship in the middle of all the blue, tiny and appearing to stand still. What it must be like to travel the great oceans. 

And then, suddenly, a second's worth of turquoise shallow waters, a blur of palm trees, and before there is even a hint of land, we are on the ground. 

My cell phone doesn't work. Its No Service notice glares at me on the corner of the screen. I walk staring into it until the glass doors slide open: the tropics. It is the same story every time, that first burst of sweltering humidity on your skin, the wind warm, your body suddenly painfully pale to the eyes. Oh how I revel in its velvet air, the smell of tar and sweat and foreign foliage. My concerns dim, manana seems as good a time as any to solve whatever issue lies at hand. Soon my jacket will be stowed at the bottom of the bag, my warm New York winter clothes, laughably out of place. I pull out the sad remains of a sandwich made in the black of night on Morton street, smile at the inconceivable distance, sink in to the beat.