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--- J O E   D U N T H O R N E

Her passport bulges
like an overpacked suitcase.
At security, she whips off her bleepables:
belt, brooch, brogues.

She's asleep before take-off and later, in turbulence, she only wakes up to look incredibly bored. With a nose like concorde she sniffs her bloody Mary and asks for a jerk more tabasco.

She clops past the reclaim rodeo with everything she could need in her hand luggage. She'll be at her hotel - wholly hydrated, pores as clear as runway lights, chock-full with clot-less blood - before a single suitcase gets spat into their chubby, map-happy hands.

She leaves culture shock to the guide book club, those who take pleasure in winding on their watches. By this time, she'll have made local friends in a local bar, ordering ales by their nicknames, not flinching at the double-figured a.b.r. Even her eyebrows do not betray interest; they are trim, clipped and landed.

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