The olives I’m eating on this flight taste like success.
The brine, divine,
The meat, metallic
Like a mouthful of gold coins.
The champagne I’m drinking tastes like success.
Dry like the hot towel you’ve been handed in first class.
Crisp like a man’s white, collared, starched shirt.
The air I’m breathing smells like success.
Warm and breezy like the beach.
Musk-filled, clean, and confusing, like a wealthy man’s cologne.
And then I land.
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