Currently, I’m sitting in the Philadelphia airport in terminal F and looking skeptically at a rickety propellor plane which I am supposed to board..
Looking around, there are the average people one might expect to see in an airport, or a mall, or in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. Overwhelmingly plain, some pasty, some extraordinarily, vividly orange. Greying or dyed or bleached.
Some, however, appear intelligent. A certain unnamable smoldering energy glows in their eyes. They are plainly- but well-dressed. Most have glasses. One young bearded man is wearing a polo shirt. On it, in lieu of an alligator or a polo player is a simple, understated, very blue “Y.”
They are, like myself, waiting to depart to New Haven.