Concourse D (Revised)

Here I could describe the sensation of knowing no one, of being human, of waiting for a schedule, of walking conveyor belts, of announcements, of footsteps, luggage, of the Eagles in the background, of groups of boys in uniform, of uniforms transcending time to WWII, but you already know this feeling, this holding, this delay, this overwhelming, this no-sleep place, these fluorescent lights and rows of slightly padded seats, all those leavings and all those arrivings, all those sobbing and all those lit faces, all those snapshots of half-hugs and blinks, all those visions of crashing and so much gum, all packed into a small suitcase, all shoved into terminals, all swirling around the stuffy air – there are designated sentimental areas – please refrain from weeping in public– please don’t leave your relationships unattended– if you see lone baggage please contact your god’s organization or the nearest TSA member.