I have always wanted to write a book and recently I got the project under way. With my outline done and a solid plan formulated putting the words on paper has commenced. Here is a taste.
Having stayed with my mom for the last week I felt that I had really made it in life. Here I was, 32 years old, with only the possessions that can fit into the trunk of my car, and I don’t even own the car anymore, living in my mom’s basement sleeping on her couch. My mom, who had come totally onboard with the trip idea, offered to drop me off at the airport with a pit stop at one of my favorite restaurants for one final meal. The curb side drop off consisted of me quickly heaving all my carefully planned and packed possessions encased in my backpack over my shoulder, a quick hug, and some nasty glares from all the people being held up in traffic by us.
Not unfamiliar with my local airport I felt very comfortable and not the least bit nervous when I queued for the airline teller. The line was filled with over packed Russians who left the distinct aroma of alcohol, cigarettes and excess cologne lingering in the air. Between gasps of breathing through my mouth and holding my breath I slowly made my way to the front of the line. The attractive teller was all too happy to assist me in my baggage checking and flight ticketing until she asked me that dreadful question “Do you have a visa for Thailand?”
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