The flight to Hong Kong is crowded and stuffy. At the height of the Swine Flu scare, many of the passengers wear surgical masks to protect themselves from incidental exposure. Unlike the early tween to my right, I do not.
Staring aimlessly out the window, I listen to him fidget and squirm. Finally, he succumbs and pulls the mask down.
I turn my head and he sheepishly smiles in my direction. "You lasted longer than I would have." His eyes crease with gentle acknowledgement. "Home?" He gives the name of a Chinese city of which I've never heard. "Many flights to get there?"
"A couple. I don't go home very often. Studying at Griffith."
"What?"
"Hospitality."
"And what will you do with that?"
"Come home. I'm a scriptwriter." His eyes light up. "If I work very hard, I'll get a good job at a restaurant waiting tables where famous Chinese directors and producers ear. I'll meet them and show them my scripts."
"And that's why you'r studying hospitality?" Vigorous head nodding. My bottom lip shrugs and concedes to his enthusiasm. "Sounds like a plan." He smile broadens further still.
In truth, it sounds like more than a plan. It sounds like an adventure.
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