It is 6:00 and I am at the airport in Minneapolis.
The concourse is teeming with people, travelers.
I am flying to New York to see my friend and watch the Twins battle the Yankees.
There is reggae playing at a bar I am sitting at.
The bar is closed.
I was the first to take a seat here, and now the number of people has multiplied.
A cooked poked his head out from the kitchen, he looked like he is wondering what we are all doing sitting here.
He looked a little nervous, like he is wondering how the day will begin, starting with a full house.
I wonder if it is normal, or if my precipitous seating brought about the wave.