When I saw the look in his eyes, I knew he was my brother.
Not a bio-bro, but the kind from a different mother dontchaknow.
Ten years younger than me, his energy seemed anything but. He was laden down like an old mule. He had a backpack on each shoulder, a duffel bag crossed those as well. His left hand pushed a cart that looked like a rolling Jenga tower. His right hand pulled a carry on bag with three additional duffel bags clinging desperately to the handle.
Two children under five ran screaming around what I assumed was his wife who was muttering and texting frantically as they made their way away from the baggage claim.
Our eyes caught for a second. He shook his head and laughed. His laughter was entirely without pleasure.
His ashen skin and sunken eyes told me everything I needed to know: This was a man returning from vacation. And at this moment? He couldn’t wait to get back to work.
Vacation should not be a drag.
And it always seems to be.
Go away for a week, then take two more to r…
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