When you think of camouflage,  what do you picture?  Some brownish or greenish tarp?  Or a black SUV in the city?  Something large or something small? 

Life can be as colorful as a supermarket or as dull as a cemetery.  It does not matter.  By default, people are hardly seen anywhere.  Even if they look at you, they only see a body.

I was taught that I should never be seen, especially not blowing a plane to smithereens.  It's a pity.  Being seen is much more interesting.  For, you see, things are never quite the way they seem.  They also taught me not to trust my eyes. 

"One ticket to Bage please."

... 

Sitting on the plane to Bage, I stare at my ticket as it quickly morphs into a ticket to Boge. 

I will need to leave the plane before we land.  It is much harder to travel on the ground.  I have always wondered if this is due to a lack of imagination on my part or some hidden law of nature.

...

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. Please return your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. Thank you." 

I make my way back to my seat.  Flying economy has the advantage that others pay little attention to you.  Except for one old lady, no one has even glanced at me thus far. 

Sitting down, I close my eyes.

When I open them again, I am still in a plane, but this one looks slightly different.

This one is going to Boge.

As luck would have it, I ended up in someone elses seat.

"Oy, who the fuck are you?!  Get out of my seat!" 

Says a big fella who looks like he just returned from the loo.

"Must be the wrong row, apologies."

I say and get up.  I contemplated changing his ticket, but I will still need to get through customs.  Besides, if I am not careful and my head starts spinning, it might crash the plane.  Better not take the chance. 

The fella mumbles a few choice slurs as he pushes past me to sit down.

I look around and find another empty seat.  I hope that I will not need to change seats again. 

... 

The plane landed in Boge.  As I deboard, the large fella from earlier walks up to me.

"You know..."

He speaks slowly and then halts, as if waiting for a response. 

"I do not."

"Fucker, I. was. talking."

I sigh.  When I was younger, one of the scientists would talk like this.  It is irritating.

"You know..."

He continues walking next to me.

"I was thinking..." 

I wonder how I should get past customs and boarder control.  My visa is for Bage not Boge.

"I never..."

They taught us that simple is best.  Instead of changing the various controls, it is better to avoid them all together. 

"Got a re-..."

Should I walk through the glass? 

"...-al a-" 

No, a shadow!

"...-pology..."

But that's a little boring.  I want something new."

"... from you!"

The fella puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me.  I do.

"Sorry won't cut it fucker!" 

Rather than cutting perhaps combining would be good.  Or... 

"Let me tell you..."

... Changing!  It is easy to slip his hand from my shoulder as I embrace him.  A moment later, as he pushes me away, the change is complete.

"Fuck..."

The fella swears and plops on the ground.  All the while, I turn around and walk towards the customs and border checks, carrying his bag. 

From his jacket, I grab his blue passport.  My face and body matching the passport, it is easy to go through the checks.

Fortunately, his bag does not contain anything that needs to be declared.  As I walk away, I see airport police rushing past me to detain the fella, now an unassuming thin young man - my previous looks. 

With five days left, it is time to explore the city and find something to pass the time.