It’s Thursday, post-afternoon, that lazy time when things simultaneously slow down and speed up, but for different reasons. Outside of my window a plane is in the process of landing, and I can hear the robotic voice of the train system letting passengers know that they must wear mask in order to board.

A man screams, “Go away!” at someone, and I imagine it’s either a stray cat, maybe the one that’s been crying outside my window for the last couple of nights, or an imaginary friend who’s overstayed their welcome. 

The wind blows, swaying the thin, dry leaves of the palm trees. I am not comfortable here any longer, I think, but I just arrived. What has changed? I don’t have to open the sliding doors to know how unbearably hot it is outside. Is it the heat? Was I inadequately prepared?

The thoughts tumble around in my head as I gaze without a focal point off into the distant mountain range that is surely home to aliens. Here, in this daze, I let the discomfort fade into the background and just enjoy the view.