Waiting in Transit- paranoid

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We have trekked up to the northern hemisphere, Auckland to Sydney to Kuala Lumpur to Vienna. Next is Rome, for four days of roaming and photos. I will be sleeping in a single bunk at a grubby hostel. I wish I could ode to joy but I’m tired, hungry and paranoid. Julian is chatting with a local during the short trip over the Alps; I can see small villages nestled in between the white desert peaks. All I have seen of this world has been through the little window of my Boeing. A couple of nights ago I saw lights marking the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan it’s just another angle through my window, my TV screen.
The local is telling Julian about Rome ‘Are you prepared?’ he asks.
‘For Rome? …Yeah I guess…why?’ returns Julian, trying to unwrap a complementary mint.
‘No man! You’re not prepared, don’t you know Rome is dangerous? Don’t you know they mug tourists every day… sometimes stab them?’ Staring intently at Julian now, Italian hands waving. ‘Pick pockets too…little kids, cute little kids on the subway, will take everything, your watch from your wrist, and you wont even know it…. Be careful man.’

The drug dog is tied so close to the wall that it can’t move, while the airport security guards are leaning against the wall deep in discussion, with their machine guns. Deep in discussion, I’m not sure what about, but if I were to describe Italians, that would be my adjective, deep in discussion with hands waving. Waiting for the train to the city, we stand among the thieves and vagabonds gesticulating. My knuckles are white, gripping my bag, as little demons in school uniforms mill around me waiting for their chance. I need a shower and a good sleep.

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