Wake in the dark and shower off a fog of sleep. Your brother drives you to their airport through the rain. Share secrets and wishes as you watch the skyline rise through his windshield. Raindrops glitter. You want to stay.
Wheels up, Seattle. Wheels down, San Diego.
Big table, big meeting, big dinner, big plans. Then, finally, alone.
Drive through the dark toward the bright lights of your hotel room. Call home and listen to your daughter cry. Say goodnight, I love you, I’ll be there soon. Curl up in the big white bed.
Read the magazine you bought three months ago, the one you’ve only barely skimmed. Remember that hotels have cable. Smile to yourself. Binge-watch bad TV.