Flying.
A feeling of laying in an unmade bed.
Staring at Buddhist sutras
from floor to ceiling
slipping in and out one's consciousness.
Feeling the sutras
keep you alive.
The stewardess, a cameo appearance
in dark Chinese whispers, brought coffee,
lukewarm and annoyingly weak with powdered milk
and a glimpse of hauling about her darlings.
Made corny jokes about thick and thin. Her own choice
written on her body. In fluent French.
No idea where it came from. That feeling.
I loved her, briefly, put myself to work
emptied all this thinness.
Waiting, with sleep and in-flight magazine,
for better pastimes.
It came. High above the gold coast,
which reminded my neighbor of the complicated timing
of coming into the world elsewhere: mom's returning
from a trip to Papua New Guinea, her desire
to birth him in Australia, his first scream
in a Lockheed Hercules en route. And how he
two years ago – his pousse café a fait divers
for Quantas – was gripped by a fear of flying so intense
that he nailed to the floor, watched how the plane left
without him, to yet another continent.
...in an unmade bed... staring at
Buddhist sutras...
For me no alcohol.
Vascular problem requiring an understanding smile,
so thinks the stewardess.
*
8 pm: in den Hopsack, Grote Pieter Pot straat, Antwerp, Belgium
In a small town with no road going through, all off them stopping at a mountain, at tailings or a wash there isn't much to do. Favorite activities are improvements: Putting up a water tank with a backhoe and resting under the result.
You could watch the changes in the Alpenglow on the mountain or watch another splendid sunset...
The women, in real community spirit have been baking: I got Brownies, pound cake, chocolate-chip-almond bars, and peanut butter and raisin cookies. They also have fresh white bread. One lady proudly shows us her blueberry muffins... Note the red nails and the bangles.
A clean kitchen, well thought out, safe and lots of enthusiasm from the cook... 
View of the bar and two back country horsemen behind the mirror. I can see the hustle and bustle of the place, hearing laughter and joy and banter around the pool table. Dori had her birthday, Dave backed a marvelous chocolate cake; here together lighting the sparkling candles.
The grand scale and life games of craps... and then to the car leaving Las Vegas crossing the by pass over the Hoover Dam and the glorious desert landscapes no Casino can compete with.
When the producers of the books are part of the presentation then only the preliminary activities can be documented.
