Time to go again

I sat on my porcelain throne, listening to the delicate hum of the ventilation fan, and began to contemplate what it might mean to leave this place behind for the next year. Why go? What could possibly be accomplished by adding one more tourist to the global throng? As time rolls inexorably forward what will I miss from this place I currently call home?

Absent mindedly I began leafing though a discretely placed magazine. I think I’ll miss the kind eyes of my grandmother and the vacuous eyes of a sushi dinner. I’ll miss crisp raw lettuce and dark roasted coffee. I’ll miss orderly traffic and police beyond a bribe. I’ll miss central heat and central air.

I refiled the magazine and replaced its glossy pages with an endless spool of quilted white paper. Most of all I’ll miss a clean quiet crap.