Rain fell that day, a fine whispering rain. Many years later, I had only to close my eyes and I could still hear it like tiny fingers tapping on a windowpane.
September eleventh was an unusual morning at the La Guardia International Airport, a peculiar one indeed. Hundreds of flights delayed, and thousands of people crammed themselves into the airport that dreary morning, with lines winding across the lobby, thousands patiently waiting to clear security. Gazing outside my office window, I saw him.
The rain cast a kind of pallor over the day, and this stranger was little more than just a stolid figure. Only his face gleamed white as he loitered suspiciously in the lobby. His hair clung to his wet forehead, he was drenched in water, but he ignored it. He stood there motionless, one arm crossed over his chest as if that might at least warm him a little, and the next, clutched on to a black backpack. And he kept on staring at this back pack, with a cunning look welded on to his......
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Approximate Pages: 4 (260 words per double-spaced page) |