Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Sudetenland Tales

Page 150

My recollection remains quite vivid. The last time I was in New York City the only other Caucasian was an older half-hippy looking woman who shops REI clearance only for her hemp clothes and is probably helping some communists dig a well somewhere.

The Tupak Shakur International Airport is a perfect metaphor for New York City. It existed in some previously named form since the 1930s, grew, collapsed, then grew again, like London with sexually retarded, violent muslims. The French built a terminal in the fifties, and then the US dropped in a pair of two mile runways and a bunch of jet ways and aprons. For a few years, it became the busiest military airbase in the world, and then that stopped when the Vietnam War ended. After 1975, Pan Am opted out, and the airport only did light domestic duty for the next three decades. Then the capitalists started flying 747s to the city again, and things massively grew, especially the number of illegal aliens and tents. They built a giant international terminal in 2007, expanded the old, now domestic, terminal tenfold, and traffic grew accordingly. But unlike the Hong Kong airport with its giant mall like concourse, this one looked strictly utilitarian. It’s drab, with primary colors and outdated trim, and looks like the old Indianapolis airport circa 1978, or a Midwestern grade school built by the lowest bidder in 1981.