Last Flight

In Melbourne I had to go pick up my 85L bag.  Which was no big deal, except for the fact that I had carry it to the other side of the airport on foot in the sun to get to my next check-in point.  At one point I realized I had gone too far and had to turn around.  My back was killing me by this point and I could feel my cleavage dripping with sweat. By the time I got to the counter I was heaving for breath and hoping I wasn’t going to miss my flight.  The very nice man at the counter told me my bag was a little over weight, but he wouldn’t charge me extra and was confident it would make it on the flight.  I had 3 hours to kill until my last flight, so I found a café and ordered a pizza.  At the last minute I asked the lady what the drinking age was… it was 18.  I ordered myself a Heineken and sat down at a table with my greasy pizza, sweaty boobs and forehead, and my laptop.  First time I felt relaxed since my trip had begun.