The flight was dreary, a long taxi prior to takeoff put me to sleep, the jolt of landing surprisingly violent. As I exited the plane the pilot greeting me was a woman, I wondered if she was new, the extra hard landing a testament.
When I got into the cab for downtown I shared it with a woman who bathed recently in perfume, the cloying scent tugging at my cough. Resisting the urge to open the window I resolved not to breathe.
As we headed downtown, the young cabbie pulled away from the curb and turned up the music, the sound of a piano concerto flowed from behind my head.
Nothing else made a sound, just the piano and violin counterpoint. The scenery flowed past my window like the opening scene in a long forgotten 70s movie. I was transported to another time and place expecting to see stacked heels and rust orange leisure suits.
I knew right then that this trip would mean a change, not sure if it was good or bad, but I would be changed when I returned.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2014