“Now I’m riding the underground trolley back in forth in the Atlanta airport. In the most densely populated airport in America I’m the only one around, well except for night-shift workers, but they’re not on the train. I can imagine the kick that the federal security is having watching me walk around this airport like the last human alive after the zombie apocalypse has occurred. What’s he doing? He’s just dancing around. Should we go talk to him? Now he’s back in the smoking room. Now he’s drinking a Slurpee. Why is he here? Oh he missed his airplane.”
via Part one,Ten pages of timeless red Notebook that could be recovered after a Storm.
Adventures In American Writing 