There’s something very nice about the baggajj bumping onto the conveyor belt. Like a waterfall, or a stream, gently thudding down and into place. Badly jumbled together bags, fitting oddly, un-tessellated outside, packaged up, bursting with clothes and all manner of odds and sods. Varying degrees of importance, patiently revolving until finally claimed by a jet lagged owner with a grunt and a sigh. Packages packed, luggage to be lugged.


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