Airport.

There is always the crystal seed, lingering in the air about my thoughts and I… that point from which all other life grows. The branches of existence are fading motes of light as the roads and runways disappear into the heavy, Autumn fog that’s endangered more than a few ‘red-eye’ flights from our great hub of transportation. My toes curl at the thought of the angst that must be writing within that building right now.

I used to go down there all the time to watch people come and go. New security, the nightmare of the new security, has thwarted my prime hobby… and generally, I’ve moved to other haunts. But there was a charm about the airport, especially at night, that most places just do not have. People there are tired; it becomes a private world, for reasons I cannot fathom.