The happy place

I’m eagerly anticipating this exciting future, like we are walking into Mad Max, the one with Tina Turner, you know?

I had a taste of this when I was a young terminal worker, riding the pallet truck, a special forklift you stand up in, with extra long forklift forks, me with a plastic mug of hot coffee, rim clenched between my teeth, driving on towards the kiosk to buy cigarettes. A vast concrete space, a decommissioned old machine covered in gray dust on my right hand side, Do you know this dust? It’s not unlike how I picture the gray ashes in ”The Road.

And there I felt for a moment that I was the only one alive, or at least that the population was as decimated as in this terminal building

And I felt like it was the end of the world, but in a good way; I would drink my coffee and smoke my cigarette in a glass box — like they have also in airports — without a care in the world. Maybe flip a magazine or simply just listen to something from my portable CD player.

I was happy then.