A Bird in the Airport

How does a bird get inside the airport? Past revolving doors, security. Through checked points and into the sitting areas by gates to planes waiting to be boarded. I don't know how this bird I'm looking at got this far; I had a hard enough time getting here.

In Denver, an older man slaps his unshaved face and looks out the airport window, he gazes at the snow-covered tarmac. He grins at a young girl standing on the other side of a temporary fence sponsored by the airline that calls this airport its hub. One of its hubs. The man is creepy, no doubt about it. His look–unshaven, as mentioned–is unkept; his hair is long, tied back in a ponytail and tucked underneath a faded royal blue baseballcap. His denim attire and his yellow teeth place him, in my mind, in the labor intensive workforce. He’s not a typical airport person. He grins again and points at the girl and then at the bird, which is hopping on the ground below, picking at popcorn particles displaced by shoe soles.

The bird hops about, still. Takes flight, even, in this airport. The girl doesn’t appear interested and moves further away from this man, which is relieving. The girl’s parents, who have an English accent, don’t fear the man, their concentration is currently on the whereabouts of a missing windbreaker, set down by their son, the brother of the curious girl, who’s mistake today was a kind gesture, alerting the older man of the cell phone he dropped on the ground. Lost in conversation, he doesn’t realize he’s disconnected from his wireless communication device.

And maybe he’s not a construction worker. Maybe I was wrong about that. He pulls out a laptop and makes me reconsider my stereotypes.


akjed said...

Where was this again?

Anonymous said...

Second paragraph, second word.