Camping in the Terminal

Suffice it to say, I am still in the metropolis called Newark International Airport. My hopes were dashed by the possibility of getting on at the very last second of boarding. It wasn't completely futile, I got to practice my inner goal of patience.

 I wandered around repressing my feelings of devastation, and eventually, I  crawled into an abandoned booth. Wrapping my jacket closer to my body, I shifted around trying to grasp the rarely elusive state of ... sleep.  I have a suspecting feeling that I am a narcoleptic. Breathing the damned air conditioned frost proved to be the only hindrance to my rem cycle.

However, I must have fallen into quite a deep sleep, because when I woke up, I found my abandoned little corner filled with other sleeping occupants. Still drunk off of drowsiness, I return 3 hours later to my little booth and I shall nestle there until my flight to Paris... which I will navigate somehow into Madrid.