Minding My Business

Sitting, five hours on a plane, belted in after a drive on the Baltimore Beltway. First stop, Las Vegas from Lord Baltimore, for a layover and a dip in a beer soaked watering hole. I will search the terminals hi and lo, to and fro, for a frostie mug of suds. From Vegas to Spokane, not sure what to expect. I want Big Skies to fill my peripherals. All the while, sticking to the Vegas code: Mind your business, say it all by saying nothing, keeping an honorable code and only speaking on my own behalf. I happen stanced into an abandoned terminal at the Vegas airport. Dead slot machines tell no tales. Eerily, masked up, I meandered through the rows of seating, picking my spot to wait for boarding. B22 was the call on the terminal Bingo Board, fell on silenced ears, ears that were connected to headphones, everyone in their own world, tending to their business. Maybe a terminal makeover is in the works as evidenced by the taped off corridor. Maybe the machines have eaten their last nickels and dimes or someone else's last nickels and dimes in the strong arm efforts to nickel and dime passengers. I was afforded the opportunity to sit, reflect and rethink. To rejuvenate, to get thirstier for my final leg of the journey from Lord Baltimore to Spokane.