Brion

Frankfurt airport, security. A stern fiftysomething woman with hair dyed raven black pulls my rucksack off the conveyor belt and nods in my direction. “Yours?” her frown asks. I step forward sheepishly. “Yes, it is my bag.” ‘Do I have anything in there? No, I am sure I have nothing problematic. I don’t carry weed in … Continue reading Brion