Boarded

Insomnia did that thing again—
         where the dark isn’t quiet,
         it’s just loud in smaller fonts.

Ava went down.
My eyes refused.

So I did what I do
   when sleep won’t negotiate:

   walked to Oscar’s,
          closed the place down,
                 still not sleepy.

Watched an episode of *Fallout*,
           waiting for my brain
       to finally take the hint.

It didn’t.

Somewhere around four
          I nodded off—
             not sleep,

             more like a temporary ceasefire.

Two hours later
    I’m waking the dead (Ava),
    praying coffee comes
    with actual horsepower today—

    double++ espresso americano, no apologies.

6:18—she’s vertical.
6:25—out the door.

Empty highway,
      that early-morning hush
      where the world feels paused
      and the only thing moving

      is my need to get there.

Ava in the passenger seat,
                   silent,
    shaking herself awake
           in slow motion,
   while I grip the wheel
 and let the coffee drive

 the parts of me that are still asleep.

7:07—drop-off.

Exactly an hour before boarding.

My favorite little ritual:
   arrive early enough
   to pretend I have control.

Security was a breeze.

Then the first disappointment:
               no bar service.

Sunday morning. (of course)

Terminal A construction. (of course)

Even the lounge was closed. (why not?)

No departure Bloody Mary.

So I pouted in a corner
   like a man who packed tradition
   and found it out of stock.

Then—
     miracle—
             they started boarding early.

And now I’m here,
    words on paper (you know),
    nervous energy buzzing
    under my skin like a faulty wire,
    wanting only one thing:

            the other side.

Not even the city yet.
Not the hotel.
Not Irby’s.

Just wheels up.
Just the shift.
Just the moment…

     when the ground *finally* lets go.

Boarded.

And I’m already halfway gone.