A dismal terminal in Washington Dulles. Half of the fluorescent lights over Gate D19 are powered down, presumably to save electricity and placate the masses. The gray chairs, lighter gray carpet, and lighter still gray walls, combine with the reduced lighting to produce a generally depressive pallor to the area. On the wall are pictures of some of American Airlines’ exciting destinations: Mexico, Southeast (?), Japan. Also on the walls hang a picture of a 757 on the tarmac outside the terminal. The picture was taken on a depressingly cloudy day.
A trio of younger girls babble on incessantly, giggling about the nothing discussed between them. Another girl, of the same age group, sits with her father, removed from the trio by several seats. She’s reading a grown-up book, and periodically looks down the aisle at the girls with a look comprised of both envy and disdain.
Between the two groups sits a man and his wife. The man reads a story haltingly from his newspaper to his patient wife, who could read it much easier.
In the corner lurks a nerd.
An astounding stereotype of a blind man reads Braille near the gate. Prior to reading, he had discoursed on the quality of the world’s choirs to no one in particular. He was amazingly articulate, and announced as much later with feigned sheepishness and said, “I am a very good speaker, and do very well with words and such.” He is carrying a bag of fruit, and is wearing a spectacularly ugly wool cap.
The intelligent girls father works for American Airlines, and he has an ID saying as much pinned to the collar of his polo shirt. The girl plays guitar, evidenced by the case she hugs near her. Her pants are too short for her, as she is growing rapidly. She will be beautiful.
The woman in a couple younger than I, strokes her boyfriend’s cheek, tenderly. He keeps glancing at me as if I may be a threat. More likely, he probably wonders why keep glancing at him.
The previous plane empties, and it is nearly time to board.
An attractive girl sits next to me, leaving me briefly in charge of her bags. She has a Texan license, and is wearing a light blue thong under her black stretch pants. I didn�t talk to her whatsoever…save for “sure”, “yes”, and “absolutely”. Then, as she had fallen asleep while the rest of the passengers had boarded, I shook her gently on the shoulder, gave her my most charming smile, and said, “Are you coming along?” She laughed and I never saw her again.