Early Moring Workforce

From the sounds of trucks dumping garbage nine floors below, there is an underbelly at work in this somewhat sleepless night knowing I have to get up in four hours to catch a flight back to Vegas. Metal bangs against metal, echoing cadences of sirens, police cars leading fire trucks down one way street shut down for reconstruction. A man sings in beautiful Spanish cantonation while washing the windows in the terminal gate. He has figured out how to put worry, stress, and the pressure of socially excepted personal development behind. Must give the man credit for finding a will to freedom, lost in his own soundtrack from yesteryear, maybe his homeland, a voice that could win over any high price concert hall audience, a hidden gem laying in wait, content to have a place to earn a living, performing on a private stage amongst the general public, not sure anyone else notices or even cares about his amazing song bird voice, half romantic, half Verdi opera. This twenty something Italian woman with her husband or boyfriend keeps getting up to show her bigs tits on a small frame, tiny ass and all the above, looking to stir up some feelings of jealousy in her man, not sure they look content enough to head off to one of the many Carribean destinations this particular airline offers.

Coffee shops in admist the gate, not the typical Starbucks style, but an old diner motif with sharped dress servers in the classic look of tailored black clothing taking laps around espresso machines and coffee dispensers. The day is beginning, an extenstion from the big stage of New York City, life is underway very rapidly as if it ever ended earlier in the night where even on a Monday around 1am there are many nightclubs and lounges filled with customers who have to be at work in the next 5 to 6 hrs, does not appear to discourage the desire to catch a few hours of sleep then jump back onto the internet express to get back to work on whatever pipe dream happens to be the flavor of the week. For folks like myself there are no options, only wasting time inbetween the next brainstorm, trying not to go crazy by thinking about all the time spent avoiding what I want to do in life, as the man on the microphone in the airplane terminal calls out the final boarding call for Kingston Jamiaca in his best island voice, passengers more vacation minded than myself, no edit, have to board. Later