life is walking in downtown vancouver on a cloudy afternoon, meeting new and old faces for all you can eat sushi. life is observing the faces around the table, trying to figure out what they're thinking about, their ex-significant-others, their significant-other-to-be's, their apartments, their credit cards, their graduate degrees, their accents when pronouncing names of maki rolls, their hair styles, their shoes, the secret decisions they made just right then...

life's not boring when you're traveling. i think miseries can't fly, so you can get away from them if your jet flies far enough. or maybe they're just cheap, so they take the bus, and they'll never get anywhere in less than a few days. one should keep running, just like forrest did to find his forester, or even better : fly; maybe that's why every kid dreams of becoming a pilot instinctively, so that they could always fly away and leave it all behind.