I’m not sure what time it was, jumping from time zones to time zones again. I find myself walking around the Denver airport, like a zombie. I’m on a layover, back on the road. I think I got about an hour sleep from Omaha, I know I got 3 and half hours of sleep in my cozy hotel suite, but on the plane, I’m less sure. Listening to one of the latest podcasts that I find terribly interesting, I fall in and out of consciousness 20,000 feet in the air, getting information piped into my brain about decisive machines and our in eminent demise. Wake up to a somewhat rough landing, always have that thought in the back of your mind… is this the way I’m going to go? But that morbid thought leaves your mind when wheels reach the ground. Now here I am, aimlessly walking around an airport I’ve been to several times. It’s eerily familiar, although I don’t know the city of Denver at all, this airport… I know, the Jamba Juice I once bought a cold buster because I wasn’t feeling good, the shop that sells outdoor jackets that I always go into, thinking, maybe I need another Northface jacket. But always leave empty handed, reminding myself, I live in LA and I hardly use the jackets I own. It’s like a dream really, I wear sunglasses, not to look cool, but more because my eyes are bloodshot. That stand with all the Colorado gear looks cool, I mean it’s a cool state flag, looks like some cool visual artist designed it for a skateboard company or something. I decide I’m hungry and I opt for and bagel… I’m not happy with my choice, I don’t know why I would choose to get salmon in an airport in Denver, none of that seems like and good idea… I can only stomach half of it, the top half, always been partial to the top of the bagel. The airport is an interesting place to be half conscious, everybody on the way to somewhere else, literally in transition… oh, looks like we’re boarding for my flight home. Time to go back to sleep.