From Singapore to St John's, Newfoundland via London. A solitary manager in his empty malt whiskey store, a few hardened souls in O'Neill's bar, brisk business at Starbucks. Terminal 3 at 06:40 am is pleasingly quiet. Time to do nothing.
Landing at St John's the mist was rolling in, the rain-drenched runway appearing from nowhere. The real world, I thought, sufficient to itself and a thousand years away from where I had started.
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