He'd never catch me.

I'm sleepy. Sitting in the waiting area of the airport just outside Cagliari in Sardinia. On Feb. 9. Waiting to board a plane to Paris. It's time well spent. Feeling sleepy. Closing my eyes. Visually blanking out the activity around me. Garbled speech. Italian. Which I don't understand. So I can't eavesdrop. Just as well. The monotony of it all helps me doze. Blanking out most everything. A way to relax. Feel hypnotized. But not everything sounds good. A guy three seats over from me is blowing his nose. Vociferously. Happy he's not sitting next to me. But maybe even this is too close. Trying to avoid germs on my trip back to the USA. Which may be impossible. Because we are packed in like sardines. I've been fortunate this winter. Avoiding crowds. Washing my hands. Being careful what I touch. Maybe that's not good. Avoiding human contact. But still, it has practical health benefits. Meanwhile, the guy with the cold just got up and walked across the room. To a line that's boarding. So he won't be on my flight. Good. Interesting that I am observing the health of people around me. Very few are overweight. Most Italians are slim and trim. Speaks well for them. But a heavyweight guy just walked by. Shaped like a wrestler or a football lineman. He has a crew cut. Might be an athlete taking advantage of his behemoth size. I'd not pick a fight with him. If we tangled I could outrun him, out-distance him. Easily. He'd never catch me. --Jim Broede