THE INSURGENCY INCORPORATED

Shitty Layover.

It's not just an experience, it's a state of mind. 

Muffled sounds of annoyance. Vicious territorial behavior. Mass group think for no reason. Paranoia inducing announcements.

Fervent looks. Contempt of others because they are three people ahead of you in line.

Inappropriate meals for the time of day. 

Inappropriate and mal-placed striping in the environment.

Disposal everything. A hermetically sealed temporary life environment. Anti-status quo.

The struggle to stand out while being oppressed by the system. 

Layovers are shitty. 

Welcome to forced co-habitation in a shitty environment without survival tools.

Welcome to Lay-over City.

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The word layover is 'whatever' when you tune out your friend's story of one. The word crushes your soul when you realize you are experiencing one.

You can get sushi, but not a toothbrush. You can lay down, but not on a bed.

This is literally the only time you can't wait to go from one uncomfortable chair to a smaller more uncomfortable chair.

Go ahead get happy that you see a charging station, and get real sad real quick when 4 of 6 are broken and the other two are being used by one asshole on his ipad and cell phone at the same time...looking at his Twitter's. Yes, two Twitter's.

You know if the crazy man wearing the camo backpack and all camo everything were to shoot you, that your life would be in the hands of the guy driving the fat kid with crutches around on the golf cart.

You know the survival tools are just behind the stewardess with the shitty attitude at the entrance to the gate ramp, but you aren't allowed there, plebeian. 

You are fucked.

 But it's like wonderland, you never grow old. We are all Lost Boys.

The fashion style is "of the moment" or "overly prepared" and immediately disposable. The only clothing being worn is clothing you can't wait to get out of. It's suddenly drab and completely commercial.

Re-appropriating articles of clothing becomes commonplace. Sweatpants become a headband. We don't judge.

The temperature setting is random - no bearing on reality, so you know you must be ready for anything. However, you either have nothing or everything.

Commonplace accessories include random pieces of paper and a  mandatory chip on your shoulder.

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 The only thing that really matters here is time, but there is no sense of the passage of it.

Contact with the outside world is limited and precious.  Hoarding and rationing is encouraged. The barter system is alive and well. Shoes are optional. Aimless wandering  and desensitized meltdowns abound.

The tv's are on a loop. A loop of paid ads or weather coverage for the city you are in, but will never experience outside of these walls, makes you start to crave a Cinnabon like never before. An over commercialized oeuvre. 

See you there. 

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