A quick look at the monitor told me that my flight to Boston would be departing forty minutes later. I didn't know what to do with the time gap the delay opened for me, so I decided to simply walk around.

When Baudelaire coined the term flâneur in the late 19th century he propably didn't guess to what extent his notion of letting oneself drift aimlessly would become an essential part not only for the inspiration-seeking artist wandering on the boulevards but also and foremost for modern society itself. Perhaps shutting down your mind and giving in to the flow of the masses is the most appropriate reaction to the sensual information overload that dominates every city (and airport, for that matter).

There is a saturation point for the amount of redundant information I can comprehend at one time. Whenever this point is reached, I give up. I might as well lie down and wait for it all to stop; the contemporary version of Russian Fatalism. I never really realized that, of course. I have family, appointments, a fixed schedule and the certainty that it all won't stop because of my temporary indisposition. No, I give up by stepping outside of me to watch my self watching. I don't know what I am smelling, seeing, touching in those moments. (Ask me one hour later; I won't be able to tell you.) All I know is that I become reduced to passive reaction. The world ceases to exist, because there is too much of her. I start digesting my digestion, thinking about why I stopped to think. Disconnected. This is where solitude lives.

I, for my part, never felt alone, passive or pushed while taking a walk in some countryside. These three words, however, describe pretty exactly what I felt while passing the shops at Terminal 1, Frankfurt Airport. Harrod's, Otto Kern, Pearl Jam, Joop, Egoïste, some Japanese car, myself, mirrored in a boutique's showcase, the blinking slot machines inside a bar, a porn movie theater, and me again, this time reflected inside the barrette of a woman standing next to me. When she started walking away, my concentration suddenly focused on her. I am not trying to suggest any kind of love here. What caught my attention was a very basic, sexual attraction I felt towards her. Be that as it may, I decided to follow her.