Two guys walk down the terminal, smoothly pushing their trolley bags. They whisper jokes to each other’s ears, a natural cohesion found only in friendships of long years. They laugh cheekily in their own little safe world, sharing inappropriate insights that should be blurred. They pass behind the wall of the café, and now they’re gone.
Two men and a woman pass by the terminal confidently. Cabin crew, surely, dressed in elegant, slim navy suits and a navy skirt respectively. Their shoulders are back and heads up, a refreshing sight in the otherwise liminal space of human insecurity. They laugh in rich, as some would say, laughter which, for a moment, rises above and takes command over the monotonous airport hum. They walk towards the next gate, and now they’re gone.
A girl sits in front of me. She is cute, I’ve noticed her at the security control already, staring like a mute. Dark eyebrows follow the elegant bone lines of her face – a sad, serene face, nothing funny, and the most ordinary brown hair falling like a silky waterfall of honey. She answers her phone, and now I don’t like her that much anymore; her voice is a drag, a monotonous bore. She gets up, ready to leave, glances towards me in suspicion, and now she is gone.
A woman passes, obviously hurrying, yet with an elevated flair. Why? I wonder what is there. Perhaps, earlier this morning, her man bought her flowers and loved her madly, or is she rushing yet to see him, the anticipated meeting being the cause of that beautiful glare? Sparkles in her eyes, she pushes her azure trolley bag with a joyful hop, and now she is gone.
A couple walks by, Croatian through and through, I can tell in her demeanour, and his Nike tracksuit worn full. They are ordinary in many ways, her jeans a couple of sizes too small for the proportions she inhabits, sorting out her closet mess her favourite hobby. Yet, I love them for what they are, and I’m sure in some way they are unique. They judge harshly people in the lobby, souls of aristocrats hiding beneath, and now they’re gone to their extraordinary holiday week.
A man in a black coat carries a tray, eager to find a good spot in the café. Yet, behind his reserved stance and a serious face, he hides the joy of a little quest. His shirt is spotlessly ironed, profession well-regarded, iPhone the newest, and company newly founded. The serious man enjoys the espresso, a little boy in him devours the bagel – surely, he is not neglectful. He gets up with a slight smile on his face, and now he is gone with a professional pace.
A young policeman walks slowly, hands in pockets, approaches a man next to a socket. “ID please”, he seems to ask, a man in a black hoodie and a Palestinian sticker flag. Both are calm, it’s just a random check, yet I wonder, is “warning” written on his neck? The policeman thanks and leaves, the guy in the black hoodie resumes with his online duties. He seems like someone who can access the dark web, but does so justice to protect, an unsung knight in some respect. He gets up, stretches his legs and arms, beneath the hoodie on his stomach a tattoo warns. He unplugs the laptop from the socket, and now he is gone with his hands in pockets.
The time has come to get up and go, check if this flow has cost me missing my flight. Goodbye diary, goodbye words, say hello to Zagreb that sleeps in its misty morning light. He closes his diary, and now he is gone.