So many awkward bodies, each doing their thing. I'm the only watcher amongst all these interesting subjects. A fat and red-faced little bastard annoys his mother as time counts down and the older red-red-headed brother jitters, awaiting the possibility of a sweet escape. Another smiling boy, probably fourteen. Too happy to be anything be at least slightly retarded; he derives endless enjoyment from shaking up his ginger-ale and opening it up again and again over the garbage can until the bubbles have all been bubbled. He is invisible to his father, like I am to all these careless actors. Across from me at gate A1, I see a medium haired brunette who might be beautiful. It's been that up close everyone here is ugly, so I leave her blurry and perfect.
Reading, cell-phoning, French frying as I try to break down lives with little satisfaction. I'm jealous of a plain looking blonde girl/woman who is either meditating or dead. Motionless and serene like a rock that belongs just where it is, regardless of the river.
So many awkward bodies on display before me, each teaching me nothing as I try to form their back-stories. Self-prescribed pessimism extorted my imagination long ago. What's left is a set of squinting eyes stuck on record. A small child, also in gate A1 is looking right at me, amused at how I've been mouthing the words to the songs I've been listening to. He has chocolate ice-cream smeared across his face and sleeve. He is looking right at me. If he wanted to, he could probably pretend the soon-to-come immense stretched mountains of clouds were real instead of just weightless garnish to be quickly dismissed.