They slumber beneath the world so that they do not wake.
No Reason To Get Excited
January 23rd, 2011
It’s a cloudless sky over New York City as the sun begins to rise, spilling light and shadow over artificial mountains and valleys. The weatherman on television - a fat man who thinks he has far more charisma than he, in fact, possesses - admitted to getting it wrong in his weather report. Light rain and snow flurries had been the prediction, but it was warm and dry. It was unseasonably warm, and save for piles of snow on every block from a triumvirate of storms in the past five weeks, one could almost forget that it was still winter.
But not quite.
John F. Kennedy International Airport sits on the south west tip of Long Island; it is the bigger, and far better traveled, brother to LaGuardia, and a distant cousin of Newark Airport to the west. The planes sit on the tarmac, and at the gates (doorways to places like Paris, France; London, Engand; Rome, Italy; Mexico City, Mexico). They’re monstrosities of steel and plastic, and their engines roar like caged animals. Inside one of the terminals it’s always busier than expected; little bits of barely controlled chaos, watched over by security guards and cops and, if the threat is especially high, military men with assault rifles. But today isn’t a high security day.
"Flight 454 is now boarding at gate 15."
The mechanical voice blares over the loudspeaker, somehow cutting through the din. It’s time for you to fly.
OOC wrote:Narrate your arrival to JFK International Airport and feel free to see each other/bump into each other at the gate.