airline bathroom scent. trying to cover up the unavoidable parts of shared humanity behind what feels like a styrofoam door. sickly sweet smell of baby shit and diapers, i think.i can’t tell who’s worse, the white girls with dreads or the “too much of a pussy to even commit to a mullet” mullet style tradies, shaved short on the sides with maybe a centimeter or two from front to neck, script sleeve tattoo to boot. the tattoos are all dogshit, the guys who for some reason still have manbuns do it worse.the worst is that for every glimmer of micro-mysanthropia i get to enjoy, i have to remind myself that i am also on this plane, yet another fucking tourist. at least i have a scapegoat out of identifying as “australian.”motion sensors that never work scare the fuck out of me so bad i drop my phone onto the seemingly wet floor, that i’m scrambling to write on in this moment of “inspiration,” lifted directly from the book i was reading, stolen stolen stolen, but is there really anything new?i’m reminded of that chuck palhanuik story Guts i read when I must’ve been 11 or 12 and uncontrollably horny, it stuck with me long before i saw final destination. i guess now at 25 i find out that you can’t disembowel yourself on an airline shitter.nicotine spray. six of them. or however many as i slush it around my mouth. another since six is a bad number. it burns and i feel nauseas, but in the most familiar and lovely way. i don’t think ill ever miss being an addict.i always wonder - signs seemingly cast warnings to be heeded - “The use of products causing fire or smoke is strictly prohibited. Smoking in the lavatory is subject to a fine under the Civil Aeronautics Law of Japan as it may cause blah blah blah.” I wonder what the fine is. The cab to the airport cost me over $250 dollars that I don’t even think is mine, and especially isn’t mine accounting for the borrowed cash from over the years I still owe to vague acquaintances, and a particularly shitty ex. I was looking forward to paying that money, until I lost another job. Why the fuck is there an ashtray in here then?Swish and spit. My mouth tastes disgusting, but at least this isn’t staining my teeth more than they already are. At the start of this trip I finally noticed three streaks running along the inside of my front tooth, presumably having gotten in through the chip in the bottom of it that’s been there for god knows how long now. Staring at myself in the mirror i think, “thank fuck you can’t see it in my eyes.”I peer into business class. I love going places I shouldn’t be.back in my seat my mouth sweats. the flight path tells me what i already know: you’ve gotta sit here for the next fuck knows how long (and you’re too scared to look) until you fall asleep. i could take some more of those pills, but the ibuprofen can’t be good for your stomach at this rate. i think about everyone else on this plane, and the units they make up of the society we live in, and i think:i might just be as bad as them.

i’ve got to be.