September 11

Westward

It was time to go home. I am not made to sleep upright. I envy people who can immediately power down anywhere, anytime, and for any duration. When I’m abandoned by such people on long-ish flights, audiobooks and doodling are the paths through sleep-deprived resentment. I would draw them, but somatic geniuses always want the window seats to lean into,and drawing clothed-shoulders is boring. So I picked a bear from the Alaska Airlines travel magazine and ordered some vino. The bear was so expressive. I intended to broaden his muzzle and maybe fill in some fur, but instead I triaged (somewhat) his left eye and am calling it good. Chicago, you were my summer highlight!

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