The plane pulls up alongside the bay and the seatbelt sign pings off. After allowing the other passengers to jostle and barge their way through, an elderly gentlemen moves gingerly along the aisle. His legs ache from the long journey. He stops briefly to thank the cabin crew for the extra blankets and cushions they had provided as well as the reminders to take his pills. He thinks about tipping them but his change is deep inside the pocket of his duffle coat. He shuffles up the gangway, grateful that planes no longer park 200 meters away with the passengers having to walk to the terminal. Ah, flat carpeted ground at last he thinks as he slowly moves towards immigration. His one piece of luggage, a battered old leather holdall seems heavy, it's the only bag he takes, he wishes he'd checked it in but this will save time. He looks forward to a rest at the hotel, perhaps an early night. A sound starts to play over the airport tannoy, at first it's hard to make out but the volume increases with each step.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSav...U&spfreload=10
The gentlemen starts to move quicker, his heart beats a little faster. He can hear the music clearly now, it's calling him. He throws off his coat and flat cap and breaks into a jog. He begins to make ground up on the other people from the plane. The immigration sign in the distance gets bigger, the music louder, he's running now. Running along the travelator he shimmies past those slowcoaches, hurdles over rolling suitcases, jumps off and back on to the moving walkway if the human traffic is too en-massed to skim past. Small children are simply leapt over. The music plays on, louder and louder, inspiring yet greater speed as the cross country races of his youth come flooding back. The last 100 meters and he's in full sprint, going so fast he has difficulty stopping to turn into the immigration hall. His speed has put him to the front of the queue. The music comes into it's final bars as he hands over his passport and immigration form with a huge grin, just a little out of breath. His passport gets him through immigration in under 45 seconds and he makes a beeline to the taxi rank. Leaping into the car he hands a fistful of money to the driver and says "take me to the boys."
NIrish has arrived in Bangkok.Similar Threads:
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Originally Posted by francois
