There’s an obligatory high school girl’s sports team to my right. A long line wending its way into the maw of a Dunkin Donuts Express Coffee stand. Countless people yawning into their cell phones, legs crossed, eyes roving back and forth as they kill time. A number of people hunched over their laptops, with the rest leaning back, white iPod buds in their ears, dead to the world. The occasional eleven year old kid wanders by, eyeing people up and down, bored stiff and looking for entertainment while they’re away from their PS3’s. Though I can see about five gates and their waiting areas from where I sit, I can only see one person reading a magazine and one person reading a book.
The guy reading the book just wrote in it, underlining something with the book balanced carelessly on his knee. It did not look like a straight line.
I just spotted two more people reading magazines. All three are women in their late forties/early fifties.
Twenty minutes till boarding time. The trashcan to my left has been emptied twice in the last ten minutes by disconnected looking workers. The second time I know for a fact that there was only one Kit Kat wrapper in it. I put it there. Still, the bag got yanked, the man looking blandly at me as he went through the motions. I almost coughed and informed his as to how there was no need to change it, but thought, why bother?
An attractive young woman in a black coat with a fur lined hood just sat down close by. I wonder if she’s going to pull out a laptop. Or an iPod. Or sit staring stolidly at nothing.
She’s rooting in her bag. Shoulder towards me, leaning down to gaze into her backpack’s bowels. Damn. From this angle I can’t tell what she took out. I’m guessing David Mitchell’sCloud Atlas. I’m going to amble past and take a look.
Nope. She’s staring stolidly at nothing. Ah well. That would have been incredibly hot if she really was reading Cloud Atlas.
From where I sit I can see seven television screens. They are playing two channels between them. They are muted, and I’m just a little too far to read the subtitles. One group is showing a news channel, the other a tourist program. Oops – Barack Obama is now on TV. Now we’ve got three faces debating. If I crane forwards I can make out, “… you know, …question…from Iowa… Chuck… Romney because of better tighter. Million now. I think it’s very telling actually.” I may have missed some bits, but it really did say better tighter. Which I think is pretty good.
Mitt Romney: Better tighter.
The touristy channel is showing a cool shot of South Beach, the water gray, the sky stormy and overcast, one of the life guard huts looking all angular and spectral in the strange half lighting. Nice shot.
My plane leaves at 7:40pm. I arrive at 10:20pm. Which means I should be getting home around 11:30pm.
I’ll round this rambling post off with a favorite poem:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.