There are two black
women in their mid-twenties sleeping on the floor, passing the time in that way
using their carry-on bags as pillows.
There is the couple
flying home after their Florida vacation that I sat next to on the plane. She
enjoys crosswords and he wants to design hotels for Holiday Inn.
There is a girl my
age reading a magazine and listening to a blue iPod. She is casual, comfortable
with being here.
There's the young
parents and their two kids. The boy looks about nine and the girl is about
four. She's climbing on the chairs as her mother reads a thick book and looks
around. The boy is playing a DS that his father also enjoys.
There is another
older woman sitting down from me drinking a smart water looking bored and
tired.
There is an older
man who speaks a language other than English and looks like he's from the
middle east. He kept talking on the phone.
There is a blonde
athletic looking boy of about fifteen playing on his laptop.
There's the man
standing anxiously by the window alternating between reading a book and staring
out the window.
Then there's me, the
girl in her early twenties reading a paperback with headphones in. wearing a
low-cut dress and constantly looking at people. She pulls a notebook out of her
purse and begins to frantically write. No one even notices.
We are taught not to
stare, to mind our own business. I guess this is the job of writers. To stare,
to look into other people's lives and try to figure out who they are, their
likes and dislikes.
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