If you see something, say something.
On an early Sunday morning, sun rising over the skyline, the airport is a full spectrum of humanity, arrivals and departures, a tide of inspiration. Men and women arriving for their morning shifts, raising the gates on shops, punching in key codes and warming up registers. Some have been here awhile; several shops are empty, music blaring out into the terminal hall while the attendant sits behind a counter, scrolling her phone.
The terminal is a sartorial fantasy. Men wearing Hawaiian shirts, silk dress shirts, pressed oxford shirts, crumpled t-shirts. Hats of every kind: cowboy, trucker, straw, felt, beanie, wrap, hood, webbed, baseball, fedora, driver.
There are college athletes ambling through the lanes in packs, noticeable because of their height, pulling mascot-branded luggage, most often in sweatpants or baggy clothes hanging off their frames, tall socks bunched about their ankles, sliders, headphones—always headphones—eyes looking above and away, but not at you.
