The Drag of Departing

It’s better in an airport to make no sense at all. Everyone around you has given up on their time. The mother stares blankly while her babe discovers the magic of repeatedly smacking their chair. The tired, suited woman forgets her latte-treat clutched I’m their hands. The couple simultaneously turns the page of their paper, no notice of news in their expression. Some organize and orchestrate their books, papers, sweaters in their bags, then forget their coffee mug at the very bottom, grateful for another activity of order to mask their panic and being business-less. And cheer the fates for making Muculkin pass so young, for the theories and bio-features offer tones of juice to sip the minutes away and the man who horks and snorts and blows and crows is annoying! I feel annoyed! I’m overjoyed! Thank goodness that boy keeps petting my shoulder like I’m his prized puppy toy. And thank goodness for the punk who, squeaking his sneakers, chucks his bagel wrapper at his wasted mother, who catches my curious eye and proudly whips it back (attack!). But especially, thank goodness for the girl and her teddy, over twenty and over zealous.
Time to go home.
By: Sarah C Louise