Deliriously tired... although I'm sure the bottom is still a long way down if I care to try and find it. 8 hours left. My brain feels like it may float out the top of my skull. Eyes might crack. I would love to sleep. I am upset at the sun for attempting to rise at 3 in the morning. The upside is that I will see the sun shining for the first time on the African continent. Far to the West. Dakar, Senegal.
(2:46pm Interzone Time)-------------->
I am awake if that's what we're choosing to call it. I never slept, just opted out of consciousness. My eyes burn and my stomach has turned on itself for nutrients. However my nose is no longer running, and only an hour and a half remains before the rest of the month. The landscape below me is certainly alien. Particularly Senegal. Dakar is a city of shoe-boxes, cut and stood up next to each other in dense and seemingly vacant clusters. Now; long parallel swaths of lighter colored land, evenly staggered as far as I can see from our South American Air's Eye View. The roads look like white string laid on a mat of aged leather in sturdy but haphazard patterns. Africa is, of course, how we all become better writers. Africa makes better white men of us all...
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