#59
3.
6:07AM
I jump out of bed at the sound of a British Airways 747 going in for a landing overhead. The screech of the engines, the rumble of air as the jet gradually controls its crash. The noise of a plane landing is incredible. These jets go continually all day, the never stop. Where do they all go?
So many people.
Fully awake now, I found myself in this small but very well kept apartment. A wall of books in the living room, smooth wood floors, modern but tasteful kitchen, a small bathroom off the bedroom, an Eames chair in the living room. A few carefully selected pieces of art, not too grand and not too modern, the bathroom towels were of the softest cotton.
3rd and top floor of the building, with 2 skylights. I was so exhausted last night, I really don’t remember anything about how I got here. A taxi through the city? Horns honking in a line of cars waiting for a stop light. Women walking in skirts along the sidewalk. The glow of the lights coming into the car as we cruised through streets. A midnight gamble.
The taxi driver: you look tired mate.
Me: yeah.
In the fridge I found all I needed, as if it was prepared before hand. Milk and yogurt (both organic), apples and oranges as well as orange and apple juice. A few bags of salad. The cupboard full of a few good staples like granola, good olive oil and oddly, peanut butter. I put on some coffee and took a shower.
Nothing inside gave you any idea of what the person who lived there was like. No family pictures on the wall, no old mail or newspapers, no garbage that needed taken out. No identifying marks. Essentially, it felt like a hotel. It is the first time he ever mentioned having this place, my boss. He never took long holidays to London that I can remember.