Wrapped in coolness

Or getting to van Gogh. Don't worry there is no connection other than the fact I think the Dutch guy was and still is cool. So here I am in the lobby. The Internet is floating all around me. The wireless nation, I am their leader and its people. Some music is loud in my ear. I am not bothered. Maybe a little hungry again. A frail impression that nothing can touch me tries to build itself into a solid self. No matter how remote everything seems, I know a thousand things might make me sorry, down that hill into the valley of shadows. Like the thousand degrees outside. The only tangible thing is this beginning of hunger, slightly itching, I could even trick it away into total disregard. I have always though it is better to be slightly hungry than to be completely full. A big leather armchair embraces me lovingly with its distinctive smell, while the hotel guests slide in the background with their little lives of no concern to me. Not today. I am at the end of the world, I sit on a cool edge, my legs hanging and banging into a hot abyss of hot air. I know somebody loves me. Even if somebody is snappy on the phone, or even unavailable, even if roaming is highly overrated. I am the king of the world, contemplating the clash between America and the rest of the world: powerful air conditioning alters perception. So I wrap myself into my warm jumper, it's a set with the cool atmosphere and I wait for IT to happen. I am a nice and enjoyable bud of contradictions, both inside and out. My love is distant, firm, almighty, delicate. I am deeply in love. It is a precision mechanism and it works just fine. Do you hear me?