She seemed to know pretty exactly where she wanted to go. She never gave in to the flow of the masses, and thus there were a couple of times someone bumped into her, which didn't trouble her at all; she was obviously in a hurry and didn't want to start an argument. One of the guys that nearly ran her over was a pimple faced idiot in Calvin Klein jeans, Reebook sneakers and a T-Shirt that read 'poor, ugly, happy'. Well, there still are some things that pull me out of my big town lethargy and this was one of them. I was close to grabbing the guy and telling him to look for someone else to make fun of but decided to follow my barrette lady who accelerated her pace considerably.
She passed the waiting area, restaurants, the exchange banks, dozens of counters of various airlines and finally took the escalator up to the 'Skyline', a train that connects Terminal 1 with the newer Terminal 2. I decided to wait a while to make sure that she would not recognize my following her. When I arrived at the 'Skyline' stop, I only caught a glimpse of her entering the train and heard a bodiless voice that told everyone in line to wait for the next train that would arrive in two minutes.
When I got out of the train at Terminal 2, I somehow knew that she wouldn't be there. I made my way down to the check-in area, and a quick look at the deserted hall (only the Iceland Air counter was occupied) told me that my assumption was right. Wherever she went, there was no use in looking for her. I thus decided to fall back into my old habit and let myself flow to the escalator, up to the fast food restaurants, where three different stereo systems and the laughter of children, intermingled with the rattling of cutlery, formed one of the typical empty cacophonies that accompany halls like this one. This sound doesn't mean anything anymore. It could be an incoming train, accompanied by Muzak, or a schoolclass passing a construction site, it will always be disjointed, not connotating anything but the city itself. If you want to find out what New York and Dublin have in common, just go to their train stations and listen. You will always find one echoing the other.
Another bodiless voice (female this time) somehow reached my clogged up consciousness.
"...Mr Lars Hubrich, this is the last call for passenger Lars Hubrich, flight LH 422 to Boston."
And there I was, on the 'Skyline' back to Terminal 1, sweating and cursing my self-pity, my pseudo-philosophy, my testosterone.