It's all some manner of escape. Some form of being somewhere else, of building a wall, of avoiding the grubby, anonymous sterility of their surroundings. They're somewhere that's on the way to somewhere else. Occasionally, there's a look of impatient excitement. They're on the way to somewhere special, perhaps for some special reason. It's nice to see. As refreshing as the sound of cards shuffling.
I've travelled a lot recently. Well, relatively. I've driven thousands of miles round-trip, crossed four countries. Somewhere special, for something special. I haven't quite taken it all in yet;what I've seen, what happened. There's no respite. Reflection happens infrequently or all to often. You see more in it than what was there in the first place.
And so I sit, waiting for the plane to board. My headphones are in and my fingers tap the keys. I've built my wall and I'm safely not here.
I stare in the mirror and see more in it.