My flight's been delayed, so I find myself a seat in front of a window and stare out at the runways. It's been a long day, and I find myself in an odd daydreaming state; my friends and I are chasing airplanes with large butterfly nets and putting them in small jars, where they glow like fireflies and give off the faint sound of engines. At night they illuminate the runways, a line of lights unfurling into the horizon and marking the way for their larger, airborne brethren.
I amuse myself for a while by using the walkway as a treadmill.
A little boy of six or seven comes up from behind and joins me. He's wearing a bright Spongebob Squarepants shirt that reminds me of yellow lemonade.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he says back. "This is fun."
"Yep."
We spend most of the time in silence. After a while his mother calls him away, and having lost my company, I lose heart and let myself drift back to the beginning of the walkway. The world recedes from me slowly, until my shoe meets the edge where the sidewalk disappears into the ground and I hear my foot give off a slight rasping sound. The sensation is oddly soothing.
A female voice comes over the intercom, and explains in a clipped, professional tone that Virgin Atlantic is pleased to serve loyal customers like us and will Mr. Ben Hewlitt please come to the front desk immediately like right now but no really, if he could just sort of jog over in a brisk fashion with his documents that'd be lovely.
My flight is delayed again.
I read a book.