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The Wait : Paris Return

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Behind me a man sits with a woman on the plane each complaining Paris and of all things Parisian and of the Parisian airport security which I thought was quite good because all things all considered, I mean hey! There could be a radio program on just how much Paris sucks according to these two because even though I do love it, obviously they do not and oh what a bore, I mean Why Bother!!! Why even go or fly Air France, for heavens’ sake, or is it because it is now safer than American, perhaps perhaps, perhaps just in name alone? I do not know the answers to these questions only pose them here. Of course everyone speaks French on this fight: once again, it is Air France. Do I really need say more?

This day is bittersweet – cloud and sun ad little rain and lots of clouds moving in, moving out, just as I move in, move out of my Europe, my home, my France because I am a thing in motion and a thing in motion will stay in motion unless of course it is stopped somehow. I am swinging, but not swing dancing and not a swinger but a real mod and swinging bitch and I mean this in the best sense of the word.

So here I sit and leaving Paris with the traces of love and of the dusty Jardin Luxembourg upon my booted-feet and on my neck a love bite as the fragile crepe skin of my neck gives way and the veins flow like the Seine so easily giving up their blood in a moment untamed, the way a fox is caught on the neck while on the run only not killed but the catch of the day of the moment.

Now, now we wait for these last passengers who finally board, after making us all wait for twenty minutes which is why we aere further delayed because since then now a rain storm has moved in and that holds up everything for some reason I cannot fathom but it does and so I hate these people. I mean, I really truly hate them, perhaps because I am so organized and they are so not and this just pisses me off as the rest of us wait here like sheep but what choice do we have?.

I think of Ortega y Gassett I think of Revolt of the Masses, not the people’s revolution, never that, but the revolt of the masses and if you’ve ver been squeezed into a plane with the seat before you bouncing your bad food in your face and your coffee flying everywhere as if this were a hobby horse then you know exactly what I mean because even though most of the time people are not always revolting in this partic ular case, in this utter moment of pure hell in so many ways I cannot speak them and of sadness, this is what it means…. This is what it means to be truly stuck.

So they were the culprits and of course they are sitting in front of us, oh will it never end?. They too complain about France, about the French and I am surrounded by people who went to France but who all hate the French and I wonder if this was their first visit because if not, if not, kids, then why ever go again, it just doesn’t make any sense, do you know what I mean? Absurd.

Does this ever end? The answer, kids, is a resounding no! Hear the pilot announce departure and buckle in your seatbelt, you’ve got ten hours on this plane with delays and all of that.

Say goodbye to Paris, say goodbye to France. Say goodbye and cry. Look at the postcard on your lap, the one you forgot to post, now write Having a wonderful time: Wish you were here.

sadi ranson-polizzotti

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About Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti

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