(Tuesday, Sept. 19, 2006)
After getting cleared through the security checkpoint at Oakland Airport, the anonymous man in front of me and I ambled off to the side of the checkpoint to organize ourselves and our carry-on bags. Facing each other, we engaged in small talk as I strapped my blue and red Teva sandals on my bare feet and he looped his black leather belt through his denim belt loops and buckled his silver buckle. This created a weird, fleeting intimacy; I felt like I should offer to make him breakfast, or at least give him cab fare home.
I did neither. Fully dressed and composed, we gathered our bags and went our separate ways; it was just a one-airport thing.