Eyes searching scanning pointing finding 'we still have two hours'
ten languages bleed into one
Backpack heavy it weighs him down hair long and unbrushed skin penny tarnished
Limbs aching shoulders heaving face drawn and tired she sits because her anxiety put her here hours early
Man in business suit duty free liquor in a sealed plastic bag I wonder if he'll be drinking alone
Italian family swelling and overflowing speaking loudly they love one another
Middle aged man one sleek black briefcase long handled I wonder if he's flying home or away if he has two kids in pajamas waiting for him at the top of the stairs
He is old, his back bends like a willow
Too old to be flying alone
Were all caught between staying and leaving, here and where we're meant to be I wonder who is going home and who is running away
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