New Orleans 2012

Anima Ex Nihilo

Most airports felt the same, but the New Orleans airport was different somehow. Humidity saturated the baggage claim as if it were the cavernous mouth of some swamp monster with stale, hot breath seeping from each wall. Leggings and sweaters itched to be shed as the stifled heat began to envelop their twelve sleep-logged bodies. And all Haley could think about was a blue-green soccer jersey and a checkered black-and-white bandana dunked in ice water on summer days much hotter than this.

As they waited for their bags to appear on the carousel, a man with a small backpack ambled outside, his jolting walk accented by a back bent with age. A young woman held her the tiny hand of a small girl as they sat on a bench just inside the doors. The girl’s other clutched a take-out cup from PopEyes. There were not rushing crowds or shouted calls…

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