(a) Bon soir, good evening.
(b) This hateful airport is grinding its way into my very bones at this moment. The fast-food smell lingers in the air, combining unsparingly with the sweat of tourists rushing to a cab. Those pitiful vacationers tear right through my calm and collective exterior as I wait in line behind them to speak with the flight director. Her cigarette-scarred lips move uncaringly as she passes off each sun-burnt dad and mom. So at ease. So despicable. I have reached the front. I regain my composure and breathe steadily as I explain how “I NEED to get on a plane within the next two hours” bound for the future of my business career. No response, just a crackled “We all need somethin’, doll” And I shoot her the death glare through my perfect-fitting glasses. I hope that they magnify the intense displeasure I exhibit. I guess they don’t, because she just takes a long drag of the cig and chuckles to herself in that scratchy-tuned voice that ruined my career. I walk away, my heels clack menacingly on the linoleum as I swiftly pull out a quarter and insert it into the pay-phone. Farewell, dear opportunity.
(c) Paragraph poetry #1
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