Aeroporte Sept-Iles

Taken last Christmas on my way back to college, just before the Sept-Iles - Quebec City flight.

I sat alone in the frosty morning light in complete silence. They had dropped me off and gone to work. The Airport was warm, the winter sun warmed my back despice the skin-numbing gale that blew up now and again outside. The pilot sipped his coffee in the smoking section, glancing at his "Safarire" and entertaining a smouldering cigarette. The cute snackbar lady smiled at me; I was rough, dressed as a bushman, scruffy, I hadn't shaved the entire time I had been home. She handed me my cappucino and poutine, and wished me a safe trip.

I sat in the chair contentedly, they were formed of soft leather and moulded to my shape, no matter what position I sat in. I marveled at how little it took to make me happy, watching the shadows dance on the floor from the gusts outside. Slowly, the sun and to warm food took over, and I dozed off.

~Orion