On Monday, standing in front of me at the check-in lineup at the Porter desk was a 20 year-old guy. He wore a Kansas City Royals baseball hat, cocked to the side, and had his jeans cinched just below his ass. He was also sporting a huge knapsack on his back, which kept brushing against me as he swayed to the music he was listening to on his iPod. Thinking sourly about him, I decided that he wasn’t even lined-up properly and should have been at the VERY LEAST two paces forward.
As I gave the back of his head the stink-eye, I noticed that he was sobbing. His face was flushed red and tears were streaming down his cheeks. I was utterly shocked to see this, and immediately asked him if he was OK and if there was anything I could do for him. He waved me off, “Yo, yo, it’s all good,” he said, before turning quickly away. After a minute had passed he turned around and with great sincerity, said, “Thanks a lot, man, I really appreciate that,” and then composed, he walked like a gangster to the clerk waiting at the desk.