Airports are fucking weird. Like I’m dressed like it’s ‘95 drinking wine and there’s a dude in a three pieced suit next to me, someone in pajamas, someone who looks like they’re going to the gym after this, and like a million button up shirts.
Update. I’m hammered.
Second update: I’m sober now but very fucking tired and in a different airport.
Additionally: I have no idea where the fuck I am
Important information: I’m fairly sure Douglas Adams was just fucking paged??? What the hell???
Have you checked if you’re alive?
Buddy I haven’t cared about blood pumping through my veins since 1920. You just gotta move on and do your own thing.
So you’re saying there’s a chance you’re tumblring your ‘airport’ adventures from the afterlife?
im saying it doesnt matter because i have access to the internet
This entire thread is a big ass mood
One time, when I was in Greece, I swear that the airport was playing loud, jazz versions of foreign covers of eighties music. It was so surreal that I actually called someone to confirm for me that this was, in fact, the music I was hearing and that the woman who sounded like she should be singing “The Girl From Ipanema” was in fact actually singing “Like A Virgin”. It was so…strange.
The Brain Squirrel Monologues 