5:30am airport bus.
The city gliding by, still in the depths of slumber, light pollution from car parks and office buildings notwithstanding. Bleary eyed, the oncoming headache made worse by the too bright neon.
You used to be excited by airports, by travel. Now it’s just a slog, and too many security checkpoints. You were never a morning person though, the exception being the fleeting joy of teenage Christmases.
And Adelaide. You’ve never been, and you don’t want to besmirch a place sight unseen, but it’s not Tokyo, Paris, or JFK. There’s no frisson of excitement. At least, not this early, without five cups of coffee.
Hopefully you can nap on the plane, make up for the couple of hours you missed out on this morning.
It’ll be all better after that first airport coffee. Black, with a zillion sugars. As you smirk, remembering when you only drank tea.
You stop for a moment, wondering whether there’s a correlation of your coffee habit starting around the same time as you lost excitement for travel.
But you have enough wonder and optimism and curiosity in your life still. You’re not completely subsumed by adult cynicism.
But just not before 6am. Just not at airports.