February 12, 2017:
Tubby Pink Hair finds life unutterably hilarious. She has a glass-eyed look of about to die laughing, and if I didn't know better I'd assume she was high on nitrous. Well - I don't know better, so I'll assume she's high on nitrous. It suits her.
Little mini munchkin boy humps a chair excitedly while sucking his bottle. Indulged by parental authority he pushes his stroller across the crowd, forcing the sea to part and couples to separate, ending eventually on the opposite side of Terminal B where he commandeers his own private seat. I hear him screaming displeasure as mom straps him captive into his stroller, pushing him howling down the corridor.
Annie Adidas, track suit, gym bag, long black hair, Hispanic complexion. She's lithe and confident, successful product of Title IX. While I can admire her graceful athleticism, I feel a sharp pang of separation: she reminds me of another beautiful athlete in another city, who texts me daily, and I think of far more often than merely that.