I was already feeling feverish as the small, stuffy plane taxied to a rather shaky stop on the heavily-trafficked tarmac. As I deplaned beneath the blazing sun, I unenthusiastically waved goodbye to my three flight-mates - a septuagenarian couple and their yappy Chihuahua.
After excavating my well-traveled suitcase from the shade of the plane's belly, I retreated, squinting under the bright sun, to the comfort of the airport. I knew I'd be able to wile away at least a couple of hours in the air-conditioning, as I picked my way through the maze of bureaucracies, and labyrinths of red tape, seemingly reserved just for me.
Four hours later I was sitting, extremely ill and mentally drained, in the backseat of a taxicab on route to my uncle's house. I realized only then that it was at least ten years since I even talked to him last and there was no telling if he would recognize me in my sickened state. Things only became more ominous as I then remembered that I had forgotten to telephone him, warning him of my arrival.
The pallid condition of my face shocked me as I caught a glimpse of my ghastly reflection in the rear-view mirror. We were stuck in rush hour traffic, and the sun was literally cooking me alive inside the car. I rolled down my window, seeking some sort of breeze, some refuge from the cramped air of the interior, but succeeded only in letting in a barrage of even hotter air combined with honking and car exhaust. I immediately leaned out the window and vomited on the pavement below.
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