300 Steps Through ATL

Just as soon as the plane landed I checked my connection, 50 minutes probably take another 20 min to deplane, I'm in the back; no one looks rushed including myself. Will my bag make the transition to Newark, hopefully, plane is turbulant tough to write legibily of course won't make much sense on a computer screen. Everything calmed down again, I can read my handwriting once more, hand is cramping, use to computer keyboard, going old school this week, not that I post much airplane material. It sort of gets shelved, we are experiencing moderate turbulance according to the stewardess and as a token of compensation they are offering unlimited pretzels, peanuts, and cookies, woot, woot.

I take a few, meal for the day, good enough, my fridge will be at home when I return. Once in the corridor exiting the gate, it becomes a power walk race to B3, currently at B26, maybe 200 yards to a quarter mile away, instantly almost plow through a stunning southern debutante, keep forgetting how many hotties roll through Hartsfield-Jackson ATL, don't connect through here much unlesss headed to South America, FLA, or ocassionally the eastern seaboard to D.C.
The footrace to B3 is on, like a suspensful dramatic movie chase with intense violin strings and panic felt piano play, girls, girls, girls, no time to chat, just smile, we are all in too much of a hurry dodging other travelers, football practice moves, a tango, airport tango where random forces speed by each other like stars in the cosmos, innocent, diffused and anonymous.

30 Min till the flight leaves my right knee is giving out, can't cut on it anymore, so have to slow down a bit, my career as fast paced youthful player is down the drain, have to use my brain now, refuse to give up, keep up the frenzy movement inspite of the damaged knee, 4+ hours on the plane have locked it up real nice, though it is starting to loosen up a bit. B18, crossroads, hesitate for a moment, turn left?, turn right? or go forward?, determined not to miss this flight
motoring like a dragster down a quarter mile track, all octane, pure energy, initeria,, mass motion cannot, will not be stopped. The goal is near as I get clipped by a rollerbag, then screened by the internet wireless spokeswoman for Delta. I arrive to an already well formed line, not much activity try to talk to a older lady about the status of the flight but she appears to be in a well rehearsed, well formed coma doubling as insulation until she can return to the safe confines of wherever her home might be.

An invisible voice beckons a plane load of passengers to hump it across the B gate terminal to catch their plane as it has been diverted to another gate on the other side of the terminal where I just came from, life in ATL, crowded all the time, not enough airstrips, gates, or planes for all these people, none of them look happy, fierce angered mob collectively moved down to B26 looking out for any Delta employee to workout on while being redeployed, midgets, soiled diapers, and Mandy Moore await my arrival for the next leg of my journey.