Goodbye

We had said ours and were on the way to the airport. I can't stand leaving and have already started the countdown till the next visit. At this point the entire nineteen hours in the air was still ahead of us so I was wondering how it would go; being such a physical grind and me being scared of flying. Would we have considerate passengers around us, would the flights be uneventful, would we make our connection in Atlanta on time?

It was all that and would have been the best flight ever had it not been for the rich, unlucky, American Neanderthal from Detroit who got the seat next to me from Johannesburg to Atlanta. Unlucky, because he thought he'd have the opportunity to proudly describe to me how he stalked* and killed ten game animals on some rich, Neanderthal South African's game farm. It was when he whined about how he wasn't able to get a zebra this time but that his wife was coming with him next time to do so, that I told him I didn't 'get', appreciate or admire hunting.

As I was still seething, Mr. M-bless him- leaned over and whispered: just remember that these rich American a**holes are charged a year's salary for the privilege of hanging those dead heads on their study walls. Sadly, that money is going into the pocket of the game farm owner, who'll spend it expanding his luxury accommodations out in the middle of the bush, catering to more rich, foreign Neanderthals.

*hardly a feat since the animals are fenced in